


Pastiche Interludes

by WhittyOne



Series: Pastiche Series [3]
Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Collars, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Erotica, F/M, Fantasy Dubcon, Fantasy NonCon, Graphic Sexual Content, Restraints, Romance, Sexual Fantasy, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-03-01 02:44:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 63,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2756636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhittyOne/pseuds/WhittyOne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A work in progress, my dears.  As regular readers know, approximately five years pass between the final words of A Pastiche Heart and the first of A Pastiche Life.  I love Tom and Michelle, and I love telling their story in some manner of linear order.  But sometimes, the assholes just bring up a memory and refuse to let it go.  And so, enter this little oubliette.  Pastiche Interludes will be, for all intents and purposes, one shots that chronicle an episode somewhere between where they were and where they are.  The author’s notes will provide any context necessary to keep you from feeling totally lost, and you are always welcome to hit me with questions directly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stolen Submission

**Author's Note:**

> AUTHORS NOTES: Not quite to their second wedding anniversary. Late summer in London. And someone has a fantasy…
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: They are a D/s couple, and they practice a D/s lifestyle. Graphic sexual content. Fantasy play with implied non-consent. Use of restraints. Rough sex. Spanking. Dirty talk. Filthy, vulgar, obscene dirty talk.

There are lots of places in the world that are wonderful for resting your head when you need to put it down and think.  Turns out, however, the steering wheel of a Jaguar may not be the best choice.

I don’t drive Tom’s car very often.  Don’t get me wrong; he always leaves me the keys, and it is an absolutely gorgeous vehicle that eats up the road like nobody’s business.  But, even with our second anniversary fast approaching, I still feel more comfortable calling the car service when I’m going to be out and about, especially in central London. It’s one of the few married-to-a-celebrity perks I’ll indulge in on a regular basis.  It’s a delicious luxury – no worrying about where I put the keys, no searching for parking, the interior always as warm or as cool as it needs to be for comfort.  And I’m fairly certain the other UK commuters on the road appreciate my not being behind the wheel at least as much as I do.

But he’d been gone on location for almost a month, only sneaking home for an all too brief three day weekend in the middle, and I missed him terribly.  Plus, I knew the meeting at Doubleday was probably not going to go my way.  So it only made sense to slide in against the fine, soft leather, fire up the engine that growled like a panther, and drive myself along the streets of the city he loved so much, surrounded by air that smelled of his skin and cologne.  After, that is, I scooted the seat forward more than a few inches so my feet could reach the pedals.

And now I sat, car parked in the driveway of our flat, the cold curve of the steering wheel pressing a broad line into my forehead.  I hated the new Doubleday offices.  Modern and cold, pictures of books everywhere but nary a one in actual sight.  I hated the new editor assigned to my contract even more. She thought I was a “flash in the pan”, a “gimmick”, a star that would only shine as long as my husband remained the unattainable sex symbol so many women wanted in their heads and in their beds.  Or as long as he remained my husband.

Yeah.  And those were the things she said to my face.

I sighed heavily, pulling my phone from its dock and checking the screen.  Blank.  “Come on, Tom,” I muttered wistfully aloud.  “Where are you?”

_Auckland.  For four more days._

Inside, I glanced into the kitchen, at my work laptop in the study.  There may have been times when I’d felt less like eating or like writing in my life, but I certainly couldn’t remember them.  I trudged up the stairs, absently checking my phone once more.  The laptop we used for play sat open on the bedside table, but the Skype was dark, no sign he’d even tried to ring.  I could feel my lip jutting out as I set my mobile down to charge; knowing that him being there would have meant him tugging on it with his fingers or, even better, his teeth, only made me pout all the harder.  I was peeling my clothes off before I even made it to the bathroom; I pushed on the door for the mere hollow satisfaction of hearing it slam.

I don’t know how long I spent ear deep in the near scalding, bubble-bedecked water.  Long enough for the mirror to steam over, long enough for the rising heat to re-condense and drip from the neck of the faucet.  I scrubbed at my scalp as I washed my hair, as if the horridness of the day was a filmy layer I could scrape away with my nails. I glided his razor over the curves of my legs, my pubis, wondering if he’d ask, or just assume I’d waxed.  The folds between my legs were slick when I stroked over them with my fingertips, and I grumbled a bit in the back of my throat.  This was just for hygiene purposes; he’d conditioned me well.  My body knew exactly who my orgasms belonged to, and if he wasn’t around to dance, they weren’t showing up for the shindig.  I know that most Doms check up on their subs, punishing them for unsanctioned self-play.  Tom and I realized very quickly that, at least for us, there was no point. I couldn’t make myself come without him, certainly not with just my fingers, so I never bothered trying.  It only led to deeper frustration.

And that was something I had more than enough of as I pushed myself from the tub, winding a towel around me.  I used another to rid my hair of excess water, then impulsively refreshed my eyeliner and lipstick.  “Come on, Tom,” I murmured to my reflection before pulling open the door and switching off the light.  “Don’t leave me hanging…”

I was only a step or two into the bedroom when I was grabbed from behind.  _Hard._ I could feel the skin at my elbows already bruising under the cruel grip that pulled me back against a very tall, taut body.  My eyes were blown as wide in shock as my mouth; one arm snaking around my waist forced a gasp from my chest that was caught and crushed by a hand sealing itself over my lips. All I could hear was the pounding of my own heart in my ears… until…

“Well, well, well… what have we here?”

I would know his voice anywhere.  I should have melted in relief, even with the adrenaline surging through my every nerve and muscle.  But something in his tone… cold.  Detached.  The indifference in the hold he had on me, the depravity in the flicker of his tongue against my ear…

 I knew it was Tom.  I knew what he was doing.  I knew, ultimately, I was safe.

I also knew I was in for one hell of a ride.

I didn’t think he could hold me tighter; I was wrong.  As if he could feel my body’s reflexive flight response struggling to take over, he flexed his muscles, letting me feel just a surge more of his power.  “Come on, little mermaid.  We have rules to discuss.” 

He dragged me unceremoniously across the room to the bed, then whirled me with astonishing grace, sitting on the edge of the mattress with his legs spread wide.  I had only a heartbeat to take in his appearance (black V-neck t-shirt, faded jeans, ginger hair tousled wild above his brow to match the scruff above and below his lips, along his jaw) before he forced me to sit on his knee, perched precariously like a panicked bird in an unfamiliar cage.  His hand on my mouth held my face close to his, the arm wrapped around me trapping my arms at my sides.  His stare was cool and calm, his words easy and matter-of-fact. 

“The rules are very simple,” his brow quirked ever so slightly.  “I’m going to do whatever I want.  You’re going to do whatever I say.  Is that in any way unclear, little mermaid?”

I shook my head, wide eyed in his grasp.

“Good.” He smiled.  He squeezed the hand that held my mouth sealed shut against his palm.  “This is mine.  No need to use it unless I say so.”  His gaze was intense, and I realized he was waiting for me to nod.  I did, a sharp, stuttering movement, and his hand fell away.  I shivered beneath eyes that bore into me, deep, as if searching for something.  “Do you have something to say to me?”

My blank expression was swiftly met by a hand darting into my hair.  He grabbed me roughly by the scalp, yanking my head back on my neck.  It didn’t hurt, but the shock of it made me gasp.  “I’ve given you your mouth back, little mermaid.”  His tone intensified.  “ _Do you have something to say to me?_ ”

One brief flicker in those oceans of blue, one flash of warmth to melt the ice in his stare.  I knew exactly what he was asking, I knew the word he was waiting to hear.  I opened my mouth.

“Th-thank you?”

His grin was wide and triumphant.  “There’s a sweet girl.”

His hauled me to my feet, standing me in the sprawl of his legs, shivering and dripping and clinging to the terrycloth bunched between my breasts.  Leering at me, he gave the hem at my knees a brisk tug.  “You won’t be needing this any longer, little mermaid.  Drop it.” 

Quaking, I shook my head, clutching it closer with a whimper.

“Now.”

So conditioned to the dark and dangerous edge to his inflection, my body responded without hesitation, and the material fell in a pool at my feet.  I gasped as his grip in my hair raised me up on my toes, my hands grabbing his wrist for balance and leverage as he turned me this way, that way, making me stretch and arch so the roots of my hair wouldn’t tear free from my scalp.  All the while, his eyes crawled over me, admiring the landscape he clearly thought of as his own.  One elegant fingertip grazed the hollow of my throat, drew a straight line down my body, between my breasts, the lightest touch descending to stop just at the top of my cunt.  “Very,  _very_  nice…”

When I remained silent, he gifted me with another ruthless tug to my hair.  “I’ve paid you a compliment…”

“Thank you!  Thank you!” I screeched, my lower lip starting to quiver.

“Better.”

He sat back a bit, his grip relaxing, allowing me to lower my weight back to the flat of my feet.  But he didn’t let go.  Didn’t stop staring.  And after a moment, I could feel his eyes as surely as his fingers.  My nipples, already pebbled from cool air on damp skin, puckered to even harder, tighter little buds as his gaze circled them languidly.  My belly hitched as his scrutiny slipped lower, and I bit back a tiny sob when my overeager cunt began to weep in welcome when he finally looked between my legs.  He licked his lips a bit, extending his finger once more to trace tiny, maddening circles around the cup of my navel. I whimpered, trying in vain to pull away, to push closer, to raise my body to feel that touch on hot, wet flesh that now craved it.  That’s when I realized his eyes had shifted back to my face, and that he was watching me with unrelenting focus.  I could feel the first prickle of embarrassed tears behind my lids.  “Please…”

His expression didn’t change.  His grip didn’t waiver.  “Please what?”

I could feel my mouth twist in a moue of distress.  “P-p-please…”

“Oh, little mermaid,” his timbre husky.  “I don’t think you know what to beg for.”  With that, his hold on me shifted, twisted, and I found myself on my knees between his legs.  “Would you like me to give you an idea?”

The primal part of me finally reared its head, sending a surge of panic up through my throat.  I shook my head quickly.  “No.”

His eyes swirled dark, pupils widening.  “No?”

My stubborn chin jutted out of its own accord.  “NO.”

He smiled, almost sweetly, before the hand not in my hair shot out to grab my throat.  “What are the rules?”

“NO!”  I grabbed his wrist, but the ensuing struggle was laughably brief, and I found myself nose to nose with him, my arms wrenched uncomfortably behind my back. 

“What.  Are.  The.  Rules?”

A whine escaped my throat, a mouse caught in a trap.  “You’re going to do whatever you want…”

He gave me only a breath before jerking at my arms once more.  “And?”

Tears danced on my lashes.  “I’m going to do whatever you say.” 

“Eheheheheh…”

My wrists pinned behind me, he dragged me back between his legs, his crotch millimeters from my face.  I could see him throbbing beneath the stretch of the denim that covered his erection.  “And now, naughty girl, you have to do it without these troublemaking hands.”  He didn’t waste any opportunity to grind against my cheeks or chin as I clumsily obeyed.  Any time my hands fluttered reflexively to assist my struggling teeth, he would yank painfully on my hair until I returned them to the small of my back, my fists clenched in frustration.  Finally, belt off, button open, zipper down, and he shifted just enough to slide the waistband down his thighs.

I couldn’t help but moan at the sight of him.  Fully erect, flushed, throbbing, and leaking at his tip; I felt a surge of unembarrassed shame as my mouth watered and my pussy dripped at the thought of that glorious length filling one, the other, both in turn.  And then his hand on my face, drawing my focus back to him.  He stroked my jaw, traced a thumb roughly over my lips.  “This is mine.”

He gazed at me expectantly, his fingers tighter against my scalp until I nodded.

“Let me feel it.”

His free hand joined its twin, and he pushed between my lips, his precum wetting them before spreading its salty tang over my palate.  His grip made it clear I was not to improvise, that he would move me as he wished, where he wished, when he wished.  For a moment, he was content to rest his crown against my tongue, let the heat of my mouth warm his sensitive flesh.  Then, slowly, he began to move me, short shallow, bobbing thrusts that slid just the first inch or so of his length between my lips.  I took care to mind my teeth, fluttered my tongue against the sensitive spot just below his head.  No sooner had I done that, when he violently pushed the back of my head while thrusting up with his hips.  I was not prepared for the sudden invasion, and as every muscle from my jaw to my throat clamped down in protest, I began to cough and gag, my hands pushing at him defensively as saliva drooled unchecked from the corners of my mouth.  He held himself inside me a few beats longer before dragging me back.  He shook his head at me, his face a mask of disappointment as I huddled on the floor, swiping at the strings of spittle with the back of my hand.

“You can do better than that…”

His grip reset itself in my hair but instinct took over, and before I knew it, I was slapping and kicking at him, my fingers scrabbling over his in an attempt to uncurl them.  His laugh was rich and warm, genuine amusement in its depths.  “Wriggly little thing… perhaps I should bind you for the rest of our fun…”

He dragged me to my feet, and my legs moved of their own accord.  I heard his grunt of surprise as I wrenched away from him, bolting for the door.  But then there was only his exasperated sigh as he easily closed the distance.  His arms caught me around my waist, and I began to scream and fight in earnest as he lifted me off the floor.  I pummeled his forearms with my fists, kicked at his legs, twisted and thrashed like a fish out of water as he carried me across the room.  He threw me to the mattress and I backpedaled as quickly as I could, trying to put myself as far from his reach as possible.  But one long, impossibly strong arm shot out and grabbed my ankle, yanking me back and flipping me easily onto my stomach.  I clawed at the linens, desperately trying to stay out of his grasp; it wasn’t long before he caught my hands and wrestled my arms to the small of my back.  He sat on my legs, and I could hear the scrape of leather on denim.  Again I writhed beneath him, screaming a steady stream of, “no, no, no,” into the mattress.  But his grip never broke, and I felt him loop his belt tightly around my wrists.  He gave the ligature a brisk tug, and when it held, he rose up, turning my body beneath him. 

He wasn’t even out of breath when he crawled up to straddle my chest.  “Shall we try this again?”

With careful deliberation, he wrapped his hands around the back of my head, his gaze locked on mine.  He pushed the head of his cock against my clamped lips and I whipped my head from side to side, not caring about the precum smearing all over my mouth and chin.  His grip in my hair tightened until I relented, whimpering.  Wordlessly, he moved my face back to center, nudging against my lips once more.  Finally, I pressed back against his hands, needing just enough space; when I’d achieved it, I bared my teeth at him in a threatening hiss.

His grin was enormous. 

“I DARE YOU.”

We stared each other down for a long moment.  Finally, with my tears finally slipping down my cheeks, I opened to him.  He slid his full length into my mouth in one long, firm stroke, hitting the resistance of my throat, then pushing past it.  The tart bite of his fluids, the salt of his skin, the warm and hard and throb of his rigid muscle against my tongue… a tiny moan drifted from my nose, over his flesh.  His chuckle made me shudder from head to toe.

“I knew it.  Come on, little slut.  Suck to your heart’s content.”

 Deliciously embarrassed, I tried to wriggle away.  His throaty groan let me know he didn’t mind at all, that he rather enjoyed the sensation.  Defeated, I let my body go limp.  And that’s when he moved.

He took my mouth and throat with deliberate and brutal satisfaction, white-knuckling his hands in my hair as he thrust.  He’d press deep enough for the tip of my nose to graze the soft, downy curls that dusted his taut lower abdomen, then pull back to rock against the fluttering of my tongue.  Angling my head this way and that.  Holding me still while he pumped with his hips, then sitting rigid while his grip on my head bobbed me up and down like a ragdoll.  My mouth rushed to fill with saliva to ease his passage, so much so that the wet, slurping, sucking sounds hung loud and vulgar in the air. 

But his mouth?  Ohhh, the filth that rained from his beautiful, cultured, British lips…

“Oh, yes… that’s it.  Lick me with that sinful little tongue.  Mmm, you talented little whore.  So pretty with those blushing lips wrapped around my cock.  You love it, don’t you? My thick, hard cock filling your mouth… such a dirty little slut.  Such a naughty little cocktease.  Open that snug little throat…I want to feel you choking around me…”

He took his time, he got everything he wanted.  And just when my jaw was screaming in protest, threatening to lock, he slipped from my mouth.  His hand stroked over his length, now shiny wet, and his smile made me shiver to my core.  “Lucky little girl… I think I’ll let you swallow my come.”  I closed my eyes, twisting my head away with a small moan.  His hand in my hair wrenched me back, his voice low but full of command.  “Look at me.”My eyes opened, and I whimpered as the hand on his shaft moved faster, gripped tighter.  “Open your mouth,” he growled, “and put out your tongue.”

I’d barely completed his instructions when he was spilling, hot and thick.  All over my lips, all over my tongue.  “Taste me,” he breathed, lifting my head so that I could lick every last drop from his skin, his smile pure triumph.  “Sweet little slut,” he chuckled.  “What do you say?”

A split second earlier, I would have softened my voice, widened my eyes.  I would have begged, pleaded.  What set my teeth on edge, I may never know.  But instead of cowering and simpering under his stare… I scowled.  My voice was steely and cold.  “Thank you.”

His right eyebrow lifted; I swear, for a moment, the man was impressed.  “Not yet broken, eh?”  The resolve in his expression made him beautiful.  Terrifying.  “Let’s see what we can do about that, shall we?”

My icy bravado melted away under the burning heat of those words, and I was babbling and begging before he’d even moved completely off of me.  His hand clamped over my mouth once more, his eyes blazing.  “This is mine,” he reminded me coldly.  “And right now, I want it fucking closed.”  I nodded, fresh tears stinging my eyes.  He released me, kneeling beside me as I trembled beneath his stare.  He swept his t-shirt over his head, and I bit back a moan at the sight of his lean, rippling torso.  He kicked his jeans the rest of the way off as well.  He leaned over, so slowly…

_Oh, God… if he kisses me…_

I didn’t have time to finish the thought before, to my delighted horror, he was sliding down the bed, coming to rest between my legs.  “Oooh,” he scolded.  “Quite the little slut, aren’t you?”  His hands were warm, undeniable, as he spread me wide.  Look at you, so pink and soft.  And so very, very wet…”

I pressed my head back in delighted shame, squeezing my eyes shut tight, biting my lips together.

“That’s all right, little whore,” he taunted gently.  “Close your eyes.  Concentrate… on what you feel.”

And it was then that I realized exactly how trapped I was.  Because now, I had a choice.  I could do what he said, and help him author my own destruction, or I could open my eyes, and watch him do it alone.

_Fucker._

His touch.  So gentle.  Two fingertips.  Up and down.  Just tickling against my seam, making me shiver and quake.  Up and down.  Steady.  Unrelenting.  Up. Down.  Never touching my clit.  Never pushing inside.  Just up.  And down.  Up.  And down.  His breathing, so calm.  So controlled.  Unaffected. I wanted to sob.  I wanted to scream.  And on it went.  Never a change in pace.  Never a change in pressure.  Appalled that I would not cry out for more, my core poured out a flood to beckon him, to welcome him; I could feel it dripping down my folds, down between the curves of my ass, I knew there was a dark spot spreading on the comforter.  Finally, tired of my will’s unwillingness to give in, my traitor body lifted off the bed, my hips pushing towards his hand. 

The delight in his chuckle was unmistakable.  “There you are… my little whore…”  His fingers slipped to my entrance, tracing around the tight ring of muscle.  A tiny, feather-light nudge.  “Beg for it.”

Every muscle in my body tensed at his command.  “No.”

Another quiet laugh, another tender nudge.  “Beg for it.”

"No!"

Another long, slow up and down.  “Beg for it,” he purred, “like the hungry little slut in heat we  _both_  know you are…”

A small sob of frustrated anger fell from my lips, and I turned my head away.  I wanted so badly to defy him, to resist him, to give him the all that he was giving me, to play my part at least as well as he was playing his.  But…  _oh, God_ … he was right.  I wanted this.  I craved this.  I was  _starving_  for it.  For  _him_.

"P-p-please."

So small a sound, barely more than a breath.  I wouldn’t have even been certain he’d heard it if his fingers hadn’t stilled.

"Please what?"

_God, I HATE you…_

"No."

"Please what, little whore?"

"No!"

An exasperated sigh.  “Please.  What?”

_…but oh, dear God… how much I love you…_

I whipped my head back around to answer him with a snarl.  “Please fuck me with your fingers…”

The words were barely out of my mouth before he obliged, two fingers filling me on the surge of one deep, brutal thrust.  It hurt, in the absolute very best way, and I screamed out my agonized pleasure to the ceiling.  “Oh, yes…”  He pulled out, only to thrust in again harder, faster, deeper.  I cried out once more, then shivered at the breathy grunt that escaped his chest.  “Sing for me, little siren…”

No stopping, no relenting.  In and out.  Hard and fast.  Never touching my clit.  Never touching my g-spot.  My body didn’t care.  Taut beneath his hand, quivering, quaking.  So wet.  I could hear the slick sounds of his plunge and retreat, only serving to arouse me further, make me wetter and wetter and wetter.  And above it all, his encouragement… “That’s it.  Look at you.  Such a sweet little slut… my filthy little whore.  Dripping all over my fingers.  Your tight little cunt grasping at me.  Trying so desperately to hold me inside you… to draw me deeper and deeper into your wet, writhing body.”  He left me completely then, only to return, three fingers, brutal, painful, so delicious.  I whimpered at the overwhelming sensations, reflexively trying to close my legs.  He easily shoved them wide once more,  bracing me open with his knees.  “Don’t fight, little whore… look…”

I hadn’t realized my eyes were closed.  I opened them, and both my heart and body surged in tandem.  Golden and bold and beautiful, he knelt in the sprawl of my legs.  One hand working me with expert, savage precision, the other wrapped around his fully erect cock.  Gripping it.  Stroking it.  Dripping onto the flushed and perspiring flesh of my thigh.  “Look what I have for you,” he murmured softly, almost sweetly.  “So hard… so thick.  It’s best we have you nice and stretched open… before I split you in two.”

With that, he curled his fingers inside me, the long, strong middle digit grinding mercilessly against my g-spot.  I keened like an animal, the electric thrill of finally having his touch where I’d craved it so much arching me up off the mattress like a body possessed. 

"Oh, there you are… that’s it!  Fucking little vixen… fuck your tight little cunt onto my fingers.  Show me what a good, filthy little slut you can be…"

Pounding into me.  No mercy.  Spread so wide.  So open.  So exposed.  Owned.   _His_.  I could feel his eyes on me as surely as I could feel his touch, his gaze drinking in every quiver, every shudder, every hitch. Little sips of pain.  So much pleasure.  It coiled in the center of my belly, a glorious winding current of  _yes_  and  _more_  and  _harder, please, harder_.  I could feel my clit throbbing in time with my racing heart, hard, swollen, furiously neglected and screaming for attention.  His hand perfectly angled away; before I could stop myself, I was bucking and twisting, seeking. 

His laugh was not unkind, but he kept the heel of his hand well out of reach.  “What’s the matter, little whore?  Does this hungry little pussy need to come?”

_FUCKER!_

I shook my head violently, thrashing it from side to side against the mattress.  My eyes slammed shut, my teeth biting my lips together, my jaw clenched in stubborn resistance.

"Eheheheh… come on, little slut.  I know you want it.   _You_  know you want it.  Think of how good it would feel.  All these tight, slick muscles on lockdown… gripping my fingers… pulling them deeper… and deeper.  This sweet little spot inside you throbbing.  Your blood singing in your ears what a good, filthy little fucktoy  you are.  All you have to do… is beg for it.  Come on.  My dirty little whore.  Beg for it.  Beg for me to make you come.”

Shaking.  Sobbing.  Every ounce of resolve I had poured into the few inches deep inside the core of my body.  Willing them to obey me,  not him.   _Obey me_ …  _not him_ …

And then… his thumb.  Slick with my juices and well controlled… the lightest graze over the exposed head of my raw and aching clit… my voice… screaming… begging…

"Please… please!  Please make me come!  Oh, God… oh,  _fuck_ … please, please,  _please_  make me come…”

All at once, he was gone, taking the breath from my lungs with him, leaving me too dismayed to even weep.  His legs kept mine open, and I thrashed wildly at the sudden emptiness until I felt it.  His fingers.  Closing ever so carefully around the swollen bud he’d neglected for so long.  And just as he started to stroke over the surface, he took me again, full and fast and hard and deep.

I couldn’t have stopped it if I’d wanted to, not with all the strength I had ever or would ever possess.  The spiral of sensation that had curled impatiently behind my navel exploded in a screaming, shrieking burst, sending silver sharp tendrils of venomous pleasure surging through every cell.  They seized my voice and forced it from my throat, louder and louder.  “Yes!  Please, oh, God, please…. Harder… harder… yes… please… YES!”  The world was black and red, thunder and wind, everything blown on its side, dangling at precarious angles. 

Slowly, the grip of my climax finally started to subside, and I once again became more than shrapnel floating in the ether.  As  my body came back online, I realized he’d stretched out beside me to enjoy the fallout from my detonation.  His fingers still played lazily between my legs, but I could feel him, hot and hard, rutting against my thigh.  The curls atop his head tickled at my chin and cheek as his teeth tugged at my nipple.  I whined softly in the back of my throat and he lifted his head to look at me, the grin that curled his lips cool, calm, knowing . 

"There you are, little whore."  A teasing nip to the swell of my breast.  "That was so lovely to watch.  This delicious little body all rigid and shaking, falling apart beneath my touch."  I moaned quietly, turning my head away.  His velvety chuckle echoed in my ear, his tongue flickering against the lobe before his teeth sank into my neck.  "I knew you wanted it…"

My eyes rolled briefly back in my skull as he left his mark, and when I opened them again, his were glued to my face, watching clarity return.  And as it did, as I was able to focus once again on his need, his desire, his finely controlled hunger, I knew the storm was nowhere near over.

I’d never been so ready to dance in the rain in my life.

Widening my eyes, shaking my head, I begged him silently to play with me, to carry me further, to see it through to brutal, beautiful culmination.

His smile was indescribable.

He wasted no time, grabbing me by my hips and flipping me onto my stomach.  My hands bound behind my back.  My face buried in the mattress.  I could feel him lifting me, positioning me to his liking, my ass in the air, my legs spread so wide everything in my body ached.  My head swirled, so full: love, anticipation, trepidation, exhilaration,  _gratitude_.  I was crying, sobbing, breathless and begging.  And after giving me only a heartbeat to register his body behind me, he took me with a thrust so fast, so deep, and so hard… I couldn’t even scream.

Balls deep inside me.  Thrusting hard against my cervix.  Stars exploding in front of my eyes.

I could feel his fingers winding around my belted wrists.  And then he was pulling me up, my arms stretched behind me, my body bowed. 

"Beg me, little whore."

"Wh-wh-what?"

"Beg me to ride you like the slut that you are."

I bowed my head to hide behind the curtain of my hair.  I didn’t want him to see my smile.  “No.”

A tick of silence, and then his hand came down on the curve of my ass in a sharp slap that made me squeal in shocked surprise. 

"Beg me to ride you like the slut that you are."

"No!"

Another smack, hard enough to leave a handprint I knew I’d still be able to see in the morning.

"Beg me to ride you like the slut that you are."

"NO!"

Another strike.  I could feel my cheeks burning under the damp tendrils of hair that clung to them as he repeated his edict, crying frantically.  “No… no… please…”

One hand slipped into my hair, yanking my head back.  The scruff along his jaw scraped fire into my skin as he spoke.  “Beg me.” Another slap to my ass.  “To ride you.”  Another.  “Like the slut.” Another.  “That you are.”

One final slap, and I was wailing.  “Please… p-p-p-please… ride me like the slut that I am!’

I could feel his grin curl against my cheek.  “Good little whore.”

He rose to his full height, took my wrists in his hands once more.  Holding me taut, he pulled back, all but leaving me empty.  Hovering, taunting.  Refusing to give in until I did.  “Please,” I whimpered.  “Ride me like the slut that I am…”

He slid forward then, fucking me in long, deep, brutal strokes that made me moan in broken, defiant gratefulness.  “Mmm, enjoying this, little whore?”  His purr sent a shiver down my spine.  “Then I suggest you keep begging.  You wouldn’t want me to stop now, would you?”

The thought of losing him after enduring so much to finally hold him inside me was all it took to reduce me to a shaking, gibbering mess.  “No!  Please… please don’t stop.  Ride me… fuck me… make me your slut… your dirty little whore… oh God, please…”

True to his word, the more I begged and pleaded, the filthier the language I used, the harder he drove, pushing me further than I thought I could bear.  His hips slapped rhythmically against the sore flesh of my ass, the muscles of his thighs iron against my own.  My head fell forward between my shoulders as my walls cramped and tightened around him, but his hand in my hair yanked it back up.  “Oh, don’t you dare, little whore,” he warned.  “You’ll come when I say, only when I say, is that understood?”  Barely able to concentrate on much more than my breathing, I nodded, pulling his hand with the motion of my head.

After a small, brutally blissful eternity, I could feel his fingers unwinding his belt from my wrists.  I glanced drunkenly over my shoulder at him in time to see him cast the leather strip aside before hauling me up against him.  He guided my hands down between my legs, his mouth pressed against my ear.  “Hold this sweet little pussy open for me, little whore,” he whispered, “and maybe you’ll get to come again after all…”

His hands over mine, moving me, showing me.  His thumbs grazing over my clit, his fingers massaging my lips around his cock as he fucked into me.  “Such a wet little slut… my wanton little whore.”  I whimpered as he bit down again on my neck.  “Oooh, yes.  You love it don’t you?  Love being my filthy little fucktoy.  Love being nothing more than a hot, wicked little mouth… a tight, wet little pussy…”

"Yes!"  The word leapt from my mouth before  was aware I’d opened it.

"Oh, fuck…"

It caught him as much by surprise as it did me, and for the first time, I could feel him teetering on the edge.  His left hand slid into my hair, yanking my head back as his right moved faster and harder over my clit.  He bent me forward, just perfectly so, an angle I’d come to know oh, so well.  Unable to stop myself, I began to exhale in soft, rhythmic moans, and he chuckled warmly as he realized that I knew exactly what he was doing.  “Oh, yes, filthy little mermaid… you’re going to gush for me…”

"Yes…"

"Mmm, so eager now aren’t you?  No more fight in this luscious little body… only surrender…."

"Yes!"

"Because this is all you want, isn’t it?  My hands tormenting your body.  My cock pounding away in your cunt.  My voice in your head reminding you that… whatever else you may be… You are mine.  Mine to enjoy.  Mine to play with.  Mine to use. Whenever.  Wherever.  However I like."

"YES!  PLEASE!  TOM!"

It was the first time I’d said his name all night.

With a growl, he yanked my head to one side.  “Fucking soak me, little one.  Come now, and fucking saturate me…”  And then, he bit down on that spot, his spot, and began to suck.

The entire world came to a standstill.  My voice was gone, locked away in the tight vault of my constricted throat.  My body frozen in a perfect arc.  I couldn’t feel his body behind me.  I couldn’t feel the bed beneath my legs.  All I could feel, for that moment of eternity, was his cock hitting that spot inside me, and my clit spasming as my climax poured out, all over his hand, all over his body, all over the bed.  For that moment of eternity, he kept his promise.  He did exactly what he’d said.  In that moment, all I was, all I wanted to be, all I could bear to be, was his tight little pussy, holding him, gripping him, convulsing around him, thrumming for him.

"Oh, Jesus Christ, Michelle…"

The loving desperation in his voice had me fighting with all the strength I had left to resist the pull of the subspace that beckoned.   _Please_ , I begged the swirling colors that whispered sweetly in my ears and danced before my eyes, gently sweeping my lids shut.   _Please… let me stay with him just a little longer…_

"Fuck… my love…"

His hands moved from between my legs to my hips to grip me tightly as he pistoned, harder and harder, towards a culmination that I knew, like mine, would be different from any other he’d ever experienced in his life.  And when his growled curses melted into primal grunts and  inarticulate groans, when his arms wound tight around me as if he feared I’d be carried away from him on the wave of his pleasure, when his orgasm spilled him into me at the deepest point his cock could reach, I was still there.  And so we fell together, him pulling me back on top of him, through the sun and the stars and into the warm and quiet dark made from our skin and sweat, our bodies and our breathing.

He came back first.  He always does.

I was vaguely aware of him moving out from under me, pulling soft blankets up over me.  I could feel him rolling my arms and shoulders to reset the blood flow, rubbing my wrists to speed the fading of the small red wheals his belt had left behind, kissing every spot the leather had touched.  I knew he could feel the full body shudder that vibrated through me, could see the goosebumps migrating over my skin.  The linens wrapped tighter around me, as did his arms, and then his nose nudged my hair aside so that his lips could find my ear. 

"Come back to me, my love.  Michelle… my beautiful little bird… come back to me, please…"  Words so delicate and loving, punctuated with feather light kisses to my ear, my temple, my cheek.  "Come back to me, sweet…"

My lashes fluttered, and at long last my arm responded to my will, sliding up his chest, around his neck.  “Tom…”

I could feel his smile.  “There’s my little one.”  He caught my chin carefully between his thumb and forefinger, turning my head carefully on my neck.  He scrutinized my expression for a long moment, gauging my level of clarity; once satisfied, he brushed his lips gently against mine.  “Hello there.”

"Hi," I smiled shyly and he chuckled a bit, his arm reaching for the water on the nightstand.

"How are you feeling?"  He asked as he watched me sip.

I took a moment to stretch, arching catlike in his embrace, purring just a bit as I snuggled closer to his heat.  “Incredible,” I assured him.

His expression quirked a bit, a mixture of curiosity and concern.  “What are you feeling?”

I paused for a moment.  Considered.  Felt my smile widen a bit.

"I can still feel the adrenaline pumping behind my forehead.  I can still feel the throbbing of the mark you left on my neck.  I can still feel the sting of your handprints on my ass."  I blushed a bit, full of awe, realizing I’d never felt more at peace, more fulfilled.  "I can still feel you inside me."  His grin was beautiful, bewildered, and I rose up above him on one elbow.  "What are you feeling?"

He was silent for a long moment, his fingers twirling a lock of my hair between them.  I could see the calm waves of thought surging gently in the ocean of his eyes, and I waited, eagerly but patiently, until he gave me an answer that honestly surprised me.  “Humble.”

I blanched a little.  “Humble?”  He nodded, and I couldn’t help but giggle a little.  “Not… powerful?  Proud? Triumphant?”

"Oh, little one," he sighed, not seeming to mind my incredulity in the slightest.  "Of course I feel those things.  I always feel those things when I’m with you.  But this…"  He lifted my hand, braiding my fingers through his.  "That you allowed me to do this… that you  _wanted_  me to do this…”  His face, so elated, so full of wonder.  “I mean, I know you’re mine.  You’ve given  me your body as my personal playground so many times.  But this…”  He could tell from the look on my face that I wasn’t quite following his thought.  “It’s like…”  His brows dipped in a mischievous vee at his forehead.  “When you bared your teeth at me…”

"Oh, God," I flushed, burying my head in his chest.  "I’m sorry…"

"Stop that," his tone was gentle but firm, and he lifted my face to his once more.  "It was  _hot_.”

I chewed on my lower lip a moment.  “It was?”

He nodded, his eyes wide with sincerity.  “Oh, yes.  To have you there, in that moment with me, playing with me like that…”

"Tom," I giggled again.  "I was threatening to bite you!"

He cocked his head a bit.  “Were you?”  He pressed.  “Were you really?”

"Well…"  I bit my lip again.  "No…"

"Tell me, love," he shifted a bit against the mattress.  "What would you have done if I’d pushed things too far?  Done something that truly frightened or hurt you?"

"Iris,"  the word fell from my lips without hesitation, and he positively beamed.

"Exactly.  And what would I have done?"

"Oh, you would have stopped," I said hastily.  "Tom, I know you.  I know you would have stopped, you would have asked, you have to know that…"

"Sweetheart," he soothed my tiny panic.  "I do know that.  That’s my point."  I frowned at him, still a little confused.  "Michelle," he stroked a finger along my cheek.  "You wouldn’t have had to bite me to get me to stop.  Your safeword was all you needed.  It’s all you ever need.  You  _trusted_  me.  Just like I trusted you, putting my cock in your mouth after a threat like that.  To take that chance, to feel the thrill of facing that risk, not just hoping I’d come out unscathed, but  _knowing_  it in my skin…It made me realize,” he lifted my hand to tenderly kiss my fingertips.  “Just how often you put your head in the lion’s mouth when you play with me.”  His eyes burned into mine as the timbre of his voice thickened.  “I could really hurt you, Michelle, if I so desired.  Even… if I wasn’t careful enough.  That you believe that that is the absolute last thing that I would ever do, that you trust that I will do absolutely everything in my power to make sure that never happens…”  He smiled.  “It humbles me.”

It dawned on me, in that perfect moment of revelation and honesty, that I had yet to feel his mouth on mine.  He saw it in my face, and then he was drawing me to him, tasting me, taking my breath as his own before breathing his love back into me.  Long, lazy, reverent kisses that wrapped me around him like the warmest of blankets and left me dizzy, happily drifting in his arms.

When we parted, he smiled at me, tracing my lips with the tips of his fingers.  I could smell myself on them, and my tongue darted out for a taste.  He let me suck for a moment, stroking gently against my tongue, before withdrawing to take a taste for himself.  I burrowed into his chest, the sweet tug of sleep weighing heavy on my lashes.  His voice rumbled pleasantly beneath my ear.  “I missed you, little one.”

"Oh, Tom," I could hear myself fading even as I spoke.  "I missed you, too.  I love you, so much."

"Oh, little bird.  I love you, too."

A heartbeat of silence, then another.  His mouth may have opened to speak again, I can’t be certain.  All I knew was all I had left to say.  “I’m yours, Tom.  Only yours.  Always and forever.”

He pushed me gently into my dreams on the sweetest words I had ever heard.

"And I am yours, Michelle.  Unconditionally.  Always."


	2. Reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AUTHORS NOTES: Three years in, a brisk London autumn. Michelle has Professor Hiddleston all to herself after a long and disappointing day…
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: They are a D/s couple, and they practice a D/s lifestyle. Graphic sexual content. Anal sex. A little spanking. A lot of dirty talk.

_"It's been a shit day, my love.  I never realized just how different talking to a crowd and teaching one would be.  Can't wait to hold your body in my arms. No later than eight... Be ready.  Wearing something... delicious..."_

I'd read the text at least a hundred times since it came in around six.  I'd suspected this lecturing assignment at RADA would suit him ill, but he'd been so excited to give it a whirl.  I knew he was hiding his disappointment quite well; only I would recognize the quiet weariness at the end of his day as anything other than typical teacher/mentor fatigue.  That's because only I knew that Tom could put in a mind-boggling amount of hours and still be full of pluck and energy - as long as he loved what he was doing.  This was the first time, though, in the ten days of his two week engagement, that he'd actually admitted his unhappiness, let alone asked for any kind of help dealing with it.  I was beyond thrilled, and I raced up the stairs to make preparations.  Candles lit, pillows fluffed, bed turned down, I slipped into the bathroom for a long, hot, thorough shower.  Finally, I selected our toy for the evening, placing it on his bedside table with the water and the lube.  Satisfied, I took my place in the center of the mattress to wait, lounging on my back, one leg crossed over the other.

It was all I could do not to bounce on the bed in childlike excitement when I finally heard his key in the door.  Normally, the sound of it closing and the bolt sliding home would be followed by his voice calling my name, and the sound of his heels thundering up the stairs.  But I'd been given instructions... be ready... and I knew better than to think a test of my patience was not in the works.

Sure enough, he took his time.  I could hear him moving about downstairs, the odd acoustics of the flat giving me hints as to what he may be doing: hanging up his bag and coat, leafing through the mail, checking that the coffee pot was set for the morning.  I ground my teeth together when I heard the television click on - _really, Tom, you're going to check SportsCenter now_? - until I realized he was simply scrolling through the channels, most likely a ploy to get me worked up enough to lose control of my mouth.  A few deep breaths kept my overactive tongue in check, and a moment later, I heard his velvety chuckle wrapped around a "well done, my girl," and shivered in delight.

At long last, the sound of his feet on the stairs, and I arched my back, smiling lazily as he appeared in the doorway.  Shock, delight, and suspicion all flitted across his face in equal measure as he took in my fully naked figure presented before him.  "My love," he tutted gently as he approached. "I thought I told you to wear something delicious..."

I nodded, wide-eyed and excitedly innocent.  "Oh, I did!!"  I offered him my arm as he drew near, and he took it in his hands.

"Mmmm," he hummed, his eyes dancing with mischievous glee.  "My favorite perfume."  He pressed a kiss to the inside of my wrist.  "Clever girl."  He used his grip on my hand to pull me to my knees, wrapping his arms around me and slipping his tongue into my mouth. I suckled it hungrily, combing my fingers into his curls, still damp from the evening fog.  The linen of his shirt scraped sensually at my hardened nipples, his erection pushed the seam of his fly against the soft flesh of my belly and my bare pubic mound. I whimpered into his mouth and his hands slid down to grip my ass, holding me still for his grinding pleasure.  "Fuck," he muttered hoarsely, making me shiver. "Tell me, Michelle..."

"I'm yours, Tom...  I'm yours..."

Another deep, passionate kiss, and when we parted, his eyes lit on the nightstand, then widened a bit when he noticed the plug.  His lips curled and his tongue danced briefly at the corner of his mouth.  "A little princess tonight?"  I nodded, and he cocked a curious brow.  "Up a size... Are you certain?"

I was; I knew nothing pleased him more than my willingness to let him push my limits, so much so that he never really seemed to care if I failed. And while my favorite anal play still was, and probably always would be, his strong, gentle fingers, I'd been surprised to learn exactly how good it felt to be full of the smooth metal as he fucked me, how erotic it was to watch him work his cock over and around the additional pressure points.

And so it was easy to meet his eye with a shy smile and nod, trembling ever so slightly as his fingertips pressed gently at the ring of muscle in almost absent-minded excitement.   "It seems," he drawled, just lewd enough, "my little bird has a plan."  I nodded again and he smiled in almost regal approval.  "So...?"

I looked up at him sweetly through the fringe of my bangs falling across my eyes.  "May I please undress you, Sir?"

His eyes swirled dark with smoky hunger, and he gave my ass a gentle squeeze before letting go.  "You may."

I opened each button with reverent care, sliding the fine material off his shoulders and folding it neatly before laying it across my nightstand. I continued on to his belt, his button, his zipper, and he stepped out of his jeans before handing them to me to set aside as well.  Finally, I took my time easing his boxer briefs down his legs, nuzzling his swollen cock with my cheek, my lips, the tip of my nose. His hands slid into my hair, tugging my head this way and that, dragging my lips over his shaft, his taut stomach, his scrotum. But when he nudged his head between my lips, I turned my gaze up to him, pleading softly.

"Plug me first, Tom... please?"

An unmistakable shudder wracked his body, his jaws clenching and nostrils flaring.  It thrilled me, being able to arouse him so, and I squeezed my thighs together as the flood of my own arousal began to tickle its way down through my swelling folds.

"I would love to, little one."

He moved onto the bed next to me, and I closed my eyes as his hands caressed over my body.  I felt his breath first, warm and moist, followed a heartbeat later by the tender graze of his lips. Over the sensitive skin at the base of my spine, past the curve of one hip, across one buttock to the other and back again. His fingers, so strong and sure, spread me open, and I could not help but moan as his tongue flickered over my entrance.

"Such a good girl.  Such a proper little pupil. I knew you would love this, Michelle. My taking your ass. Owning it, as I own the rest of your beautiful body. Giving you pleasure no one else ever has. No one else ever will." His middle finger pressed carefully into me, the lube cool and slick and comforting. I could feel my cunt swelling, my lips parting, and I sobbed softly as he kissed them as well. Long minutes he spent, cautious penetration, opening me, stretching me, until I was shuddering and sweating beneath him in anticipation. 

"Please... Tom... please..."

"Are you certain, little one?" Cool slick metal resting just against the puckered ring. Gently pushing.

I nodded against the linens. "Yes, Tom... please..."

"If you want to come..."

I finished for him: "I won't move."

A warm kiss to my back. "God... I fucking love you..." Increasing pressure, delicious and torturous, and I bit my lip, exhaling a moan through my nose. "No need to be quiet tonight, love... Sing for me." Stretching... Burning...

"Ohhhhhh, Tom..."

"That's it, little bird.  Sing for me... You're doing brilliantly..."

A moment of agonizing uncertainty, and I wanted to scream... _Take it out_... _Shove it in_... _Oh, God, anything but this slow, aching, scorching, tearing_...  But all that emerged was a low, plaintive whine. Another kiss to the base of my spine. A teasing stroke of a fingertip over my dripping cunt. And finally, the amazing sensation of being filled so full I thought I might come apart at the seams.

"There you are, little one..."

My posture relaxed, and I could feel the smooth, rounded edge of the jeweled plug nestled between my cheeks. I sighed heavily.  "I did it.”

The air filled with his warm, loving laughter. "Well... Not quite." I turned my head to look at him over my shoulder.  His hands stroked gently over my buttocks, massaging against the metal sphere now buried inside me. "Sweet love... you trembled like a leaf on a tree. And at the very end..."

I dropped my head to my folded arms in dismay, only to feel him slide up beside me and draw me against him. "Don't worry, little one. We can give credit for bravery this time, I think."

I looked up at him, childishly hopeful.  "Really?"

"Oh, Michelle..." He laughed again before kissing me, deeply, tenderly. "Would you like me to change my mind?"

"No no no..."  I shook my head rapidly.

"Well then..." His slap to my ass sent a jolt through my body unlike anything I'd ever felt before. "Show me what else you had planned for us, love..." My lips curled in a teasing smile, one that raised his brow and made him shift against me in anticipation. Nudging him onto his back, I straddled him on all fours.  He pushed my hair back from my face as I leaned closer to kiss him, my nipples teasing against his chest. He rolled his body against me, sliding his cock against the warm, wet cleft between my legs. "Please tell me," he breathed into my mouth, "this is on the itinerary… "

I sucked gently on his lower lip for a brief second before pulling away. "Not yet..."

He groaned briefly, nudging at me with his cock, and it was only through Herculean effort that I managed to slide down his body, dancing my lips and tongue over skin and bone and muscle and soft, downy hair. So engorged, his shaft glistened with my juices, his head dripping precum onto his taut stomach.  I put out my tongue, lapping at both and shivering as our flavors mingled on my palate. His eyes were fixed on my face, watching every flicker of my tongue, every caress of my lips.

"Beautiful..."

I beamed up at him, delighted by the perfect segue. His brow furrowed in amused confusion, and I tossed a suggestive glance over my shoulder. He followed my gaze, and I could have squealed in triumph when his jaw sagged in shock.

I had moved my full length mirror to the wall facing the foot of the bed.  And now, in its reflection, he could see every part of me on perfect display: the arch of my back as I prepared to take him into my mouth, the purple jeweled head of the plug winking from between my cheeks, the light glistening on the folds of my cunt between my wide spread legs.

"Oh, fucking Christ, Michelle," he growled.  "My brilliantly filthy little minx..." I swirled my tongue around the head of his cock, exhaling warm breath over him as he lifted his hips towards the wet heat of my mouth. "Suck me, love. And let me watch that gorgeous body move..."

Whimpering softly, I obeyed, sliding my lips over his hot, velvety flesh, tasting salt and sweet and longing and lust... tasting _him_.

I felt him shift a bit and giggled slightly around him, knowing he was adjusting in order to take in the view. "Mmm, quite proud of yourself, aren't you?"

My eyes met his, wide and clear, as I nodded, slowly and deliberately sliding my mouth up and down his shaft. He hissed slightly through his teeth, then grinned wickedly down at me.

"Show me more. Slip your fingers between your legs and spread your sweet pussy open for me."

I moaned quietly in aching gratitude, and did what I was told. The heat between my legs was scalding as I slid my fingers over my plump, swollen lips.  Wet and slick, I had to press hard to keep the flesh from slipping beneath my touch. Above me, Tom's voice continued to instruct, calm and cool but clearly balanced on a razors edge of arousal.

"Arch your back... there, that's it.  Push your sweet little ass out... yes, just like that..."

My perineum, already stretched by the presence of the plug, throbbed in a new and painful but not at all unpleasant way as I pulled my lips wider and wider, as his hard, muscular thighs pushed my legs further and further apart.  All the while my mouth worked his cock deeper and deeper into my throat, stroking, sucking, swallowing.

"Jesus Fucking Christ," he muttered through gritted teeth.  "Stretch that cunt for me, darling.  That's it... fuck those cunning little fingers deep into those tight, dripping wet walls. Show me, Michelle.   Show me with your fingers how you want me to fill you with my cock..."

I gasped and whined as I obeyed, marveling at the pressure from the plug, tracing it's curve with my fingertips, shuddering as my touch made it shift inside my ass. I'd nearly lost myself completely in the pleasure when Tom's hand in my hair yanked me swiftly upright.

"No more teasing. Take me inside you. Now."

Rising up above him, I made a show of cupping and kneading my breasts, teasing my nipples to bullet points that I could see made his mouth water. Easing back up until my hips hovered above his, I pressed my parted lips against his cock, rubbing against him, bathing him in my juices until he was as warm and slick as I was. Then, with a wicked smirk, I turned my back to him, leaning forward over his legs before sliding him home inside me with one strong, fluid roll of my body.

"Fucking Christ," he growled as I took him as deep as I could.   "Bloody brilliant, you are..."

His hands gripped the curve of my ass as I began to rock, the subtle shifting of his touch creating new and delicious pressure around the plug. My head, heavy with desire and sensation, nodded low, my chin grazing my chest.

His palm struck the swell of my buttocks with an echoing crack.

"No getting lazy on me, love.” I could hear the smirk in his voice. "My pretty little princess wants to give me a show. And it is fucking beautiful. Your wet, pink cunt gripping my cock. Your sweet nectar glistening on my skin as you slide me in and out of your body. The pretty purple plug shining in your tight little ass. But the picture isn't complete without your beautiful face looking at me from over your shoulder. So shy, almost hidden by your hair. But I see you, Michelle. The lusty shine in your dark eyes. The blush in your cheeks. The virginally whorish way you pout and bite that plump little lip. Look at me, love. Let me see you while you ride my cock."

I whimpered like a puppy, ever amazed by his ability to slip control so easily from my hands into his own; aroused by it, comforted by it, and so fucking grateful for it. I lost myself in his commanding gaze, twisting my hips beneath his gentle guidance, gasping when his grip pulled me sharply down against him, driving the head of his cock against that spot deep inside me that made me clench and cry out, stars exploding in front of my eyes. And every time I learned the rhythm, every moment I thought maybe, just maybe, I could turn the tables on him once more, his thumb would nudge the plug inside me, making me shudder. And scream his name.

I don't know how long I'd been fucking him, writhing and moaning with my chin crooked over my shoulder, when I suddenly realized he could still see every inch of our coupling reflected in the mirror in front of me. He saw the revelation in my eyes and his wicked chuckle filled the air.   "Pretty princess... Did you forget the game you were playing?"

He surged upright and before I knew it, he had me trapped in his embrace. One hand on the back of my head held it steady, his cheek pressed to mine. "Look at us, love... Look at the lovely picture we make.” I whined softly, still so self-conscious, even with his gloriously handsome face beside mine. "Look," his tone was edged, firm, not to be rebuked. "Look at your breasts, bouncing as we fuck. Your nipples so hard and flushed... Jesus, what I wouldn't give to have them in mouth."

"Tom..."

"Look at your wet little cunt, how your pleasure drips down my cock. How your hard little clit strains to be touched... teased..."

"Tom... please..."

"Oh yes, little princess... Beg."

"Tom, please... oh God, please..."

His hands held my hips firmly, his cock pumping deep and steady, his pelvis nudging against the plug with every thrust. "Feels so good, doesn't it, love? To be stretched so wide, yet filled so full..." He angled his body ever so slightly, causing the metal sphere to rub exquisitely against us both. "Fucking hell..." He grunted. "You'd better make yourself come quickly love. Because in about thirty seconds, I'm going to replace that lovely plug with my cock. And fill you so full, I'll be dripping out of you all night long."

His words were almost enough to push me over the edge.  And yet, the tightly coiled spring of my orgasm continued to throb at that tender spot just behind my navel, refusing to let go. I could hear the ragged hitch in his breathing, feel the tremors that vibrated through the muscles of his thighs. And just before he moved to pull out of me, my desperation took hold. I grabbed his hand and shoved it between my legs, shamelessly grinding my clit against his fingers. His groan of shocked delight echoed in my ear and I keened softly in agonized relief as my climax overtook me, the waves of white hot pleasure dragging me down, literally, until I was slumped against the mattress.

I whimpered, open mouthed, against the comforter as Tom gripped the jeweled head of the plug. Fucking me with it. Grinding its curved belly against his cock through my walls. Then, slowly, he eased the metal from inside me, massaging me gently with two long fingers to keep me open. I sobbed softly at the loss when he pulled his cock from my still twitching pussy, then shivered at the sound of his fist slicking his shaft with lubricant.

"Tell me you want it, Michelle..."

"Ohhh, Tom, please... Please fuck my ass. I want you so badly."

"Tell me you need it."

"Please, Tom, please. I need to feel your cock in my ass... your come dripping out of me..."

I could hear his hand moving faster, his breath hitching irregularly. And then his head slipped just inside me, making me twitch and quake. "Mmm, love, relax... Let me in..." Steady, firm pressure. And then he was there, inside, deeper than the plug, deeper than his fingers. His body pressed to mine, and I wriggled automatically, my aching and open cunt desperate for contact. He managed a small laugh, nudging the weight of his balls against me. "You've had yours, love. This one is mine..."

With that, he pushed my head down, and carefully but firmly began a slow, sensual roll, withdrawing until just his crown held me open, only to push back in deep, using the tension in my muscles to milk his length. “Oooh, little one,” he bent over my body to dance warm kisses between my shoulder blades. “You’re almost too tight.” His hand covered mine as he bit carefully at my neck. “You need to relax.” He slipped our fingers back down between my folds, and my eyes rolled back in my head as he showed me exactly how he wanted me to play with myself. “Reach inside, my love. Find me. Touch me.” He guided carefully, pressing our fingers up into me, growling low in his throat as we grazed against his cock. “That’s it, little one. Stroke my cock through your pussy.” Once I was working my touch inside me to his satisfaction he withdrew, catching my swollen clit between his thumb and forefinger, twisting and tugging until I squealed beneath him.

The resulting surge of endorphins was all I needed to let down, and Tom groaned in triumph as my body’s resistance ebbed enough for him to thrust with a bit more speed and force. Our hands continued to work between my legs until it seemed I was nothing more than then a vessel of sensation, made to be touched, driven, forced over edge after dizzying edge until I was falling, flying, soaring, and carrying Tom along with me into oblivion. I was already sobbing in the throes of another orgasm when he grunted into my hair… “Fuck… darling… take my come… take it all…” Suddenly the world was nothing but blazing red light and heat and burn and _fuck_ and _so good_ and _don’t stop_ and _yes… yes… YES_ …

And then I was mewling, begging, the ache of him almost unbearable. He slipped from me carefully, moving us both so that he could trace his still leaking tip over my lips. I lapped at him eagerly, firm dancing strokes over his waning length until his hands in my hair crushed his lips against mine, his tongue tangling with mine to take the taste of his come and mine, his body and mine, until there was no separation of one from the other.

We lay askew in the bed for a long while, tasting, touching, basking in the warmth of each other until his stomach gave a low, distinct growl. We both dissolved into giggles, and he slid to the edge of the bed, offering his hands to help me stand. “What do you think, love?” He brushed my tousled hair off my forehead. “Pizza from Franco’s?”

“Sure,” I yawned, stretching my arms over my head, shivering deliciously as the first trickle of his release teased its way down the cleft of my cheeks.

“Oooh, sweet girl, I’m going to love watching that all night,” he purred, drawing me into his arms. “You know,” he nipped tenderly at my lips. “One of these days, I’m going to fill you… THEN plug you.” He nuzzled the tip of his nose against mine. “Make you carry me around inside you as life goes on as usual.”

“Mmmm,” I wrapped my arms around him, cuddling my nudity against his. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He chuckled softly, caressing my chin with his thumb. “I love you, little one.”

“I love you, too, Tom.” I shivered in delight when I saw the wistful light that filled his eyes, the silent herald of what was to come, the words that had come to define my life, and all the amazing wonders it had come to offer, against all odds…

_“Tell me, Michelle…”_

_“I’m yours, Tom. Always and forever._

_I’m yours.”_


	3. Little Mistress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTES: Two years married. February 14th. And it’s been a bad day… 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: They are a D/s couple, and they practice a D/s lifestyle. Graphic sexual content.

Delia Pollay is what most people would call a handsome woman.  Not overly tall, she’s not short either, black-haired and buxom, with honey-hued skin and dark, wide-set eyes.  Her posture and gait speak of a lady used to getting what she wants; her husky-harsh voice commands attention and respect in equal measure.  Having my contract transferred to her client list was a step up on the Doubleday ladder, a modest earmark of my professional success.  And after only two face to face meetings about my writing, past and future, I was able to sum up the whole of our working relationship in two simple sentences:

She hated me.  And I hated her right back.

I’d told myself over and over again it didn’t matter, that I only had to meet with her once or twice a month and that even then, she was only there to govern the mechanics of my career, that she didn’t have a shred of creative control.  So I wrote what I wanted, she accepted it under duress, and we battled our way to the next project, and the next.  I’m fairly certain Tom intended to mock her disdain when he suggested (from between our sweat-soaked sheetson the night of our second anniversary) that I author a clever little tongue-in-cheek how-to manual, a playful sort of “BDSM for Beginners”. Though the idea delighted me, I was initially quite intimidated by the notion of offering such a manuscript unprompted.  Clicking his tongue in affectionate reproach, Tom reminded me that Delia couldn’t exactly refuse to pass a finished product along to her seniors, and tasked me to at least give the writing a whirl.  Churning out the sixty-nine pages had taken less than a week; Delia’s acrid announcement that they’d been green-lighted for publication came even quicker than that.

The release date was set for February fourth, and ten days later, first printing had already been exhausted.  Critics and readers alike were eating it up; Tom saved the clipping from the New York Times Sunday review: “O’Shea-Hiddleston does not disappoint, offering page after page of fresh and funny kink built on a foundation of respect and trust and affectionate adventure.”

But as I sat in the office of the woman I’d already come to think of as the sea witch, it quickly became crystal clear that her assessment of the work was… not as encouraging.  “It troubles me, Chelle, that you don’t seem to mind gimmickry or cheap hooks.  I mean, it’s silly to try and say you have little talent; obviously, it’s in there somewhere.  But this?” She gestured to the paperback on her desk as if she couldn’t bear to touch it. “It’s… trite… flippant.”  She could see the ire flaring in my cheeks and offered me a sympathetic sigh.  “I just hope you haven’t damaged your credibility in your own… community.”  She flicked her wrist as she crossed to sink into the leather chair behind her desk.  “God knows that’s the only doorway you’ve got should you decide to get serious again…”

After her curt dismissal, I rode the elevator to the lobby of the handsome London high rise in seething silence, willing the bile that had risen in my throat back down to my churning stomach.  My phone chimed from my purse, the merry little appointment alert, and I scowled to myself as I swiped open my schedule. Multiple reminders – one for the hairdresser, one for a waxing, a third for a facial, and a chipper little note that my special order items would now be available at Agent Provocateur. “Thanks a lot, Ursula,” I muttered to myself as the elevator doors slid open.  “Way to fuck up my Valentine’s Day.”  

Valentine’s Day.  Tom had clawed a hole in his schedule, buying us a long weekend with the promise of eighteen hour days and a speaking engagement at some producer’s daughter’s university event.  I had no idea what he had planned, but I knew he wanted to go out.  Hailing a cab at the curb, I squared my shoulders, determined to get my head back in the romance game.  

As it turned out, I didn’t so much get my head in the game as I barely kept myself from getting kicked off the playing field. Forcing myself above the childish desire to demonstrate, I did not demand that the stylist hack ten inches off my hair, an act that surely would have left Tom seeing red.  I did forgo my idea for a cute little heart-shaped patch, instructing the waxer instead to take it all and leave me bare, the ripping sting a temporary distraction from my anger and frustration.  It didn’t last, though, and I sullenly surrendered my facial appointment altogether to one of the hopeful stand-bys waiting on the list.  I did pick up my new lingerie, but when I arrived home to find the flat empty and dark and silent, I tossed the bags in the closet and wriggled into yoga pants and an old Chapel Hill t-shirt instead, flopping on the bed to scream angry epithets into Tom’s pillow.

That’s where I was when I heard his key in the door, and I forced myself to sit up, tucking my hair behind my ears and my legs underneath me, preparing myself for the sight of his face with a quietly muttered mantra, “I will not cry, I will not cry,  _I will not cry…_ ”

“Are you up there, little one?”  His voice drifted to my ears, words punctuated by the gentle thunder of his feet on the stairs.  A heartbeat later he filled the doorway, bright-eyed and beautiful, and my stomach twisted guiltily.  Without role-required coloring, his more natural golden brown curls caught the light like a halo, making the green and gold in his eyes more prominent in the oceans of blue.  Criminally handsome in a black leather aviator jacket over a bright red open-necked oxford, his arms were almost comically overloaded.  The bouquet was bursting with roses, daisies, peonies, and asters, and almost hid the ribboned box from Prestat tucked underneath. Dangling from his fingers were bags of red and pink and gold, the shop names embossed upon them hinting at gifts of lace and silk, leather and metal, and the orchid and amber scent of his favorite perfume of mine drifted sweetly on the air.  The perfect picture of enthusiastic husbandly affection, I should have giggled and clapped my hands like a little girl at Christmas.  But all I could do was press my palms to my miserably twisting stomach, feeling my mouth bow in a deep moue of remorseful dismay.

“Michelle…”  He barely made it to the dresser to drop his cargo before rushing across the room to kneel in front of me and take my face in his hands.  “My darling… what’s the matter?”

I’d thought I would collapse against his chest as I had so many times in the past, wrapping my arms around him to sob my frustrations into his neck while he rocked me in his embrace and stroked his hands over my back to soothe away my sorrows.  But this night, when my mouth fell open, all that tumbled out was rage-filled and indignant vitriol.  I railed angrily against my editor, her narrow-minded opinions and judgmental manner, her thinly veiled contempt for my work, her refusal to even attempt professional camaraderie, and her mind-boggling ability to disregard my success and diminish my self-confidence in equal measure.  I swore like a sailor and fisted Tom’s shirt like a West End diva, only barely registering his compassionate nods and the sympathetic squeeze of his fingers on my calves.  

When that first wave of resentful ire finally ebbed, he pulled me against him.  The warmth of his body enveloped me, and I melted beneath it, tangling my fingers in the silky soft hair at the base of his skull.  “Oh, Tom, I’m so sorry!  I’m ruining it… ruining everything!  All your plans… our romantic night… and I’m sitting here… and I just… and I can’t… I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry!” He was stroking my hair tenderly until my tears began to flow, but when he felt them wet his skin, his hands closed firmly on my neck and he pulled me back, forcing me to meet his eye.

“NO.”

The quiet but firm command in the word stunned me just a little, and his thumbs wiped the wet, salty streaks from my cheeks.

“Absolutely not,” he continued, unhurried, undeniable. “None of this.  Not tonight.”  I knew my gaze was broad and blank as he rose in front of me, and he took a deep, controlled breath as he pulled me to my feet.  He pushed my hair back over my shoulders before caressing my jaw, his thumb nudging gently at my pouty bottom lip.  “Tonight,” he exhaled smoothly.  “You need…”

He trailed off, slipping his jacket from his shoulders and draping it over the footboard of the bed before tangling my fingers through his and leading me to my vanity.  He pulled the stool, guided me to sit in front of the mirror.  Reaching past me, he flipped open my cosmetics case, and I felt my shoulders slump a little.  “Tom, I’m sorry… I’m just not up for…”

“Shhh,” he breathed against my temple, his finger tender against my lips and I leaned into him, briefly closing my eyes.  When I opened them once more, I could see his selections were sparse and simple: black eyeliner, black mascara, deep crimson lipstick.  I met his gaze in our reflections, and he gave me a small but firm nod.  “Do this for me, love… please…”

With a dip of my own head, I picked up the eyeliner with a slightly unsteady hand.  He’d never really watched me apply my make-up before, but somehow his scrutiny helped, and I wicked the tip of the pencil along my lids to leave thick, sweeping wings of shadow.  My lashes curled and darkened as I dressed them as well, and as I slid the lipstick over the bow of my mouth, Tom picked up my hairbrush.  “So lovely,” he murmured as he brushed out the thick and heavy locks, gathering it into his fist and gesturing for me to secure the bundle with an elastic.  Then, as I watched in the mirror, he twisted it carefully into a tight and simple plait that hung straight down my back.  I cinched the tail as well with a shiver, before his hand at the center of my back urged me to rise once more.

He ushered me to the foot of the bed, took both of my hands in his, pressed a kiss to the inside of each wrist.  Then, slowly, his fingers ghosted to the hem of my t-shirt, pulling it carefully up over my head.  His arms circled me, and I gazed up at him in rapt adoration as he carefully opened the clasp at the center of my spine.  Satin and lace fell to the floor, and he nuzzled the swells of my cleavage as he went to his knees in front of me once more.  He hooked his fingers into the waistbands of my pants and panties together, drawing them down my legs with almost reverent care.  Once they were cast aside as well, I closed my eyes as he took my hips in his hands, my breath hitching a bit as his curls tickled my belly, as his mouth smiled secretly against the bare skin of my mound.

He hovered there for one sweet moment before straightening to his full height once more.  Dusting a kiss to my forehead and whispering, “I’ll be right back,” into my hair, he disappeared briefly into the closet.  I realized whenhe returned and laid his selections out for my consideration that he had abandoned the idea of an evening out.  I also realized, as I let my eyes wander over the chosen trousseau, that that did not mean he didn’t have another quite specific plan in mind. “Tom… I don’t think I can.”

His eyes were calm and clear as he traced a fingertip along the line of my jaw.  “Trust me, my love.  I know you can.”

I’d only worn the corset once before.  Stiff and severe, the shining satin bodice was designed to keep my back straight while lifting my breasts into the flimsy lace cups that covered them.  The panties were a simple scrap of silk.  The belt and suspenders matched the stockings, which were crafted from fine lace with a distinctive seam running from toe to thigh.  And save for the blood red soles of the shining high heels that buckled at the ankle, everything was black.  I drew in air, held it a moment, then exhaled slowly.  “Okay.”

All at once, his face was alight with tightly controlled excitement, his body suddenly infused with an obsequious, almost formal air. “Sweet Little Mistress of mine… may I dress you?”

It was heady, the rush of powerful arousal that flowed through me on the wave of his honeyed tone; it took every ounce of strength I had not to sway on my feet.  “Yes, Sir…”  The corners of his mouth quirked in pleased amusement, and I shook my head to clear it. “Yes,” I shot him a sly grin of my own. “Thomas…”

He moved with calm and gentle grace as he eased me into the lingerie, his hands warm and certain as he hooked me carefully into the corset.  The belt came next, his mouth curling in silent satisfaction as he snugged the elastic over my hips.  He pressed his lips to the curve of each knee as he slid my stockings into place, fastening the suspenders at the front and back of my thighs.  I lay my palms on his shoulders as I stepped into my panties, and he snuck one more clandestine kiss to the swell just above my clitoris as he pulled them up over my hips.  Finally, he held me steady as he buckled the straps of my pumps around my ankles, then pushed himself up to stand open and willing before me.  “How would you have me, Little Mistress?”

I had to bite back the sudden tide of giggles that bubbled up into my throat, feeling lost and a bit absurd.  But when his chin lifted a notch and his nostrils flared beneath flashing eyes, I understood – everything a lesson.  Taking a deep breath and squaring my shoulders, I brushed past him, crossing to the bed with a loose-hipped roll of my body. Channeling every ounce of seductive energy I had into my four limbs, I crawled onto the bed with a feline arch and stretch, flushing with pleasure when his jaw sagged in mildly surprised and hungry desire.  Laying spread on my side, I reclined against our pillows, propping my head on my elbow and crossing one leg over the other.  “I would have you naked, my love,” I purred softly.  “One delicious inch at a time.”

His brow relaxed and his eyes sparkled merrily above his pride-filled smile until I offered him my darkest scowl.  Clearing his throat, he snapped himself to attention, then lifted his long and graceful fingers to his collar.  Button by button, he opened his shirt slowly, deliberately, offering only teasing glimpses of golden skin stretched over taut muscle.  I inhaled slowly through my nose as he rolled the linen off his shoulders, letting it fall forgotten to the floor, but my expression narrowed at his smirk as he flipped his belt open.  Indulging what felt like a mile-wide streak of misbehavior, I brought my hand to my mouth, relishing his wide-eyed gasp as I sucked my finger between my lips.  “You know,” he chuckled.  “You’re actually quite good at this…”

His mouth snapped shut as I sat up abruptly, ready to channel forth every ounce of venom I had held back all afternoon.  “I don’t recall asking for your commentary, Thomas,” I snapped angrily.  “You can play the game correctly or we won’t play at all!”  Fire flashed in his eyes to mirror my own, and I could tell he was impressed.  And yet, just below the surface of his skin, I could see my Dom bristling, prickling beneath the tensing of his shoulders, the ticking of his jaw.  

Relaxing my mouth into a wicked smile, I shifted my position on the bed.  Arching languidly against the pillows, I planted my heels into the comforter, spreading my legs wide.  My finger was still wet from my mouth, my airy gasp did little to cover his grunt of dark desire as I slipped my hand under the flimsy scrap of silk between my thighs.  “I would have you tonight, Thomas… oooh…” I shivered as I flicked the damp pad of my fingertip over the hard bud of my clitoris.  “But I don’t need you.”  I let my eyes slide dizzily shut as I drew slow, lazy circles around the throbbing nub. “I know this tight little pussy at least as well as you do.  And… ohhhh…” I rolled my hips against my touch to punctuate my point.  I could almost hear the grinding of his teeth, could see the metal of his belt buckle biting into the hand he’d fisted around it. “Play by my rules, Hiddleston,” I let him see my body shudder as I pressed one finger briefly up between my labia. “Or I’ll make you watch me play… all… by… myself…”

His brow furrowed tightly as he hissed air into his lungs; after swallowing with mighty effort, he relaxed a little, offering a repentant sigh.  “Yes, Little Mistress… I do apologize.”

“Mmm,” I hummed indulgently.  “That’s better.”  I slid my hand slowly back up my body, watching Tom’s tongue play briefly at the corner of his mouth as I slipped my fingers into my own.  My eyes never left his as I sucked my nectar from my skin; smiling at him magnanimously, I gave him a pert nod.  “Continue,” I chirped.  “Show me my toy for the evening.”

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but he puffed his chest a bit, toeing his boots off as he finished unbuttoning and unzipping his fly.  I watched the dark linen of his trousers slide easily down the muscle and sinew of his legs, giggled quietly when he pulled off his socks.  He planted his feet shoulder-width apart, and my eyes flicked back to his as he thrust his arms behind his back, clasping his hands at the base of his spine.  He held my gaze for one bold moment, and when he lowered both eyes and chin in a show of deference, I had to squirm a bit against the flood of excitement that flowed from my core in response.  He inhaled deeply through his nose, savoring the scent of my arousal, and I finally turned my attention to his cock.

I whimpered appreciatively at the sight of it, almost painfully engorged, stiff and proud, the glistening purple crown already pushed free from his foreskin.  The swollen length was parallel to his stomach, and as I licked my suddenly parched lips, a surge of precum dripped down the thick ridge of vein that ran along the underside.  I shifted slightly against the mattress, and the responding twitch of his muscles brushed his sensitive head against his belly, making him swallow hard against the dryness in his throat.  “Oh, sweet Thomas,” I quipped lazily, “you look positively delicious.”

He smiled at me with proud gratitude. “Thank you, Little Mistress,” he murmured.  “I do so wish to please you.”

I clicked my tongue in delight.  “Do you, now?  Well then…”

His eyes blew so wide the black nearly swallowed the blue as I rose slowly, whorishly, to all fours.  Taking my time and stretching my body in the most sensual show I could offer, I crawled to the four corners of our bed, pulling the cuffs from their tuck spots and dropping them casually against the mattress.  I had to suppress another round of snickers when I realized his height meant I would have to take in the slack, and quite a bit, but it was intoxicating to feel his stare devouring me as I moved slowly and surely to prepare his bonds.

Finally, I rose to cross and stand behind him, mildly disappointed that the thick, plush carpet swallowed the sound of my heels meeting the floor.  They still left me half a foot shorter than he, but they did make finding the curve of his spine at the nape of his neck with my lips that much easier.  I’m not exactly sure if it was the caress of my mouth or the teasing scratch of my lace-covered nipples against the bare skin of his back that sent the shudder vibrating through his body.  I danced open-mouthed kisses all along his neck, the blades of his shoulders, feeling the full and potent rush of power that must have filled him every time he did the same to me.  I took my time, tasting him with my tongue, marking him with nips from my teeth that made him grunt and flinch.  I let my breasts press against him, my hands breezing over his sides as I went to my knees behind him, and I felt his every muscle tense as I ghosted my mouth over his hips, his ass.  I scratched my short nails lightly over the skin of his thighs, savoring his shaky exhale, the way he leaned into my touch.

And then I carefully closed my teeth on the firm, well-toned curve of his buttock.  He uttered an adorable bark of surprise, his fingers blanching as he tightened his grip on his wrists.  I let him feel my smirk against his ass as I tutted softly in disappointment.  “Not for you, Thomas…”

His voice was taut but disappointingly shy of insolent as he bit out his reply.  “Yes, Little Mistress.”

I continued my exploration, kissing and tasting and touching flesh and sinew, thinking of the thousands, the hundreds of thousands of women who would kill or die to be where I was, to feel what I was feeling, to have what I had.  Rising to my feet once more, I circled him with casual confidence, cocking an eyebrow at his arousal before meeting his eye.  “Who’s dripping on the carpet now, my love?”

His cheeks flushed, his eyes narrowed in an obvious struggle to focus.  “I am, Little Mistress.”

“Mmm-hmm.”  I closed my fingers around the base of his cock in a snug circle, letting the pad of my thumb collect the fluid sliding down his shaft as I squeezed gently upward, a little smile of triumph curling my lips as he arched reflexively into the stroke.  His exhale hissed through his teeth as he watched me lick the digit clean.  “You taste wonderful tonight, Thomas,” I shivered wantonly.  “Be a good boy, and perhaps I’ll dine on you some more.”

“Oh, Little Mistress,” he breathed hotly. “That would please me so.”

I stepped closer to him, my hardened nipples tickling against his chest, the satin of my corset wicking away the newest drop of precum beading at his tip.  “Would it, now?”

Tom nodded, biting back a pert grin.  “Oh, yes.”

He huffed a sharp and indignant gasp when the flat of my palm connected with the curve of his ass, the crack echoing through our bedroom.  I glanced in satisfaction at the blushing shadow that colored his skin before turning on my heel.  “Too bad this isn’tabout what wouldplease you.”  Channeling all my lingering anger and frustration from the day into my haughty stride, I flicked my wrist absently at the bed.  “On your back,” I sniffed as if barely interested.  I was not surprised when I turned back to see him still rooted to his spot, his instincts and inclinations clearly at war with one another. “Perhaps you’d like me to make that handprint a matched set,” I glowered darkly.  “Or… maybe…”  With a silent shrug, I slid my hand back into my panties, leaning against the bedpost as I ran my touch up and down along my slit until he could clearly hear the wet, slippery sounds of my play.

With visible effort, Tom pushed himself into motion, crawling onto our bed and presenting himself to me, his arms and legs spread wide across the mattress.  I moved at my leisure, admiring the hard planes and angles of his body that flexed as I buckled each cuff into place.  “Oh, Thomas,” my voice was a lilting tease as I pressed a soothing kiss to the inside of one ankle.  “Don’t you trust me?”

His eyes found mine, and the loving and naked honesty in his face pulled me out of the game for the briefest of moments.  “With my life, Little Mistress.”

I found myself suddenly swallowing against a lump in my throat; all I wanted was to crawl up his body and curl against him in deep, passionate kisses.  He saw it all, as he always does; his gaze hardened to blue steel, and he gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.  His mouth was silent, but his voice bubbled up in my brain all the same.

_See it through, little one… you can do it…_

Drawing air deep through my nostrils, I straightened my back and jutted out my stubborn chin.  Circling the bed, I let a fingertip trail up the line of his calf to his thigh, past his hip to xylophone up the ladder of his ribs, over the hard swell of a flexed bicep.  “My Thomas,” I breathed in quiet, sensual amusement.  “What an exquisitely crafted toy you are.”

He pursed his lips briefly before answering. “Thank you, Little Mistress.”

I curled my fingers into his hair, smiling at the way his eyes dipped shut as I scratched lightly over his scalp.  “You are my toy,” I inquired lustily.  “Are you not?”

His nod was emphatic, the gold in his hair catching the light.  “Oh, yes, Little Mistress.  Yours and yours alone.”

“Very good,” I praised warmly, moving to kneel between his spread legs.  “You won’t mind then,” I bent low, letting him feel the heat of my mouth dancing over one well-muscled thigh.  “If I mark you as such.”

He barely had time to register my words before my teeth sank into his skin.  “Jesus fucking Christ,” he groaned, arching beneath me as I suckled firmly on the flesh between my lips.

“Shh,” I soothed him gently, stroking my palms over the outside of his legs.  “Trust me, Thomas… trust me.”

I watched his hands fist and flex against his restraints for the barest of moments before his voice drifted to me, strained through his clenched jaw.  “Yes, Little Mistress…”

Over and over, I returned the gifts he’d given me over our time together, dark violet kisses ringed with darker marks from my teeth: his thighs, inside and out, his hips.  Below the shy wink of his navel, each nipple.  The pulse point beneath his left ear.  I soothed every blemish with kisses and soft flickers of my tongue, let him feel the heat of pussy through my panties pressed against his cock as I tasted with reverence his tears of restraint and frustration.  Unable to stop myself, I asked, my crimson lips close enough to brush against his.  “Why?”

His reply was simple, sincere.  “To please you, lovely Little Mistress.”

It had never come easy before, and deep in my heart, I knew it may never come easily after.  But in that moment, it was all that I wanted.  He was smiling as I tore my panties away from my body, his mouth open and waiting when I straddled his handsome face.  His tongue was hot and wet, strong and nimble and so wickedly talented.  I held on the headboard as I undulated above him, closing my eyes to focus on every last sensation.  He used the tip to circle my clit, making it swell and rise from beneath its little hood so he could lave at it in sharp, lashing flickers.  Broad hungry sweeps parted my lips, allowed him to trace and tease my entrance before thrusting up inside me.  I spread my legs, bowed my back, moaning softly as his gingery scruff abraded the tender flesh of my inner thighs.

I could feel him watching me, but I didn’t care. Leaning back, gripping his legs for balance, I let my head fall between my shoulder blades, grinding against his lips and chin with abandon.  His hum of excited approval vibrated through my core, and I slid a hand up my body to tug at one hard, aching nipple.  “Thomas… oh, God, Thomas,” my own tongue darted out to wet my parched lips.  “Make me come, Thomas,” my words as much plea as they were command.  “Make your Little Mistress flood all over your mouth…”

The directive unlocked something inside of him; I shuddered at the sound of his throaty, wolfish growl.  He ate at me like a ravenous animal, lips and tongue and teeth, licking and biting and sucking, the cords in his arms and neck taut and strained as he arched off the bed to touch me as deeply as possible.  I dug my nails into his thighs as my orgasm ripped through me, and as it did, he caught my clit between his lips and teeth, tugging at it rhythmically to drag the sensation on and on and on until I was shaking and screaming above him.

Somehow, I managed to remind myself to collapse backward into the sprawl of his legs, keeping my own spread wide so he could breathe. After a moment of recovery, I eased my weight from him entirely, sliding up beside him to stroke his sweat-soaked curls back from his brow and dance soft, chaste kisses over his wet and panting mouth.  “Thank you, Thomas,” I purred contentedly into his ear.  “Thank you so much.”  I scraped my teeth gently over his lobe, relishing his groan of delight.  “Such a good boy.”  His eyes were wild with want when I rose up to gaze down upon him again, and I nuzzled sweetly at his cheek.  “Would you like a reward, my love?  I certainly think you’ve earned one…”

I could almost hear the creak of the muscles in his neck as he turned his face towards me.  “Oh, Little Mistress, yes… yes, please.”

I smiled, smoothed my lips over his brow. “How shall I reward such a very good boy?”

His answer was swift and certain.  “Suck me, please, Little Mistress.  My cock is so hard for you, please.  Please let me have that hot, wet little mouth of yours…”

“Mmmm,” I shivered against him, teasing one of his nipples to a taut, hard peak before pulling at it playfully.  “Such lovely begging.”  A brief flash of Dominant arrogance flitted across his features, and while I could hear the thoughts that bubbled through his head –  _I learned from the best_  – I was more than a little impressed that he managed to keep himself from speaking them aloud.  I moved back above him, brushed another feather-light kiss to his lips.  “You won’t take your eyes off me.”

He shook his head solemnly.  “Never.”

Flushed with pleasure, I eased my way down his body, tasting him, tracing every line, every freckle, every mark from my mouth with the tip of my tongue.  His cock was leaking profusely when I finally settled between his legs; he jerked and groaned a shuddering “ohhhhh” when I glossed my lips over his throbbing purpled head.  Slow, teasing, until his legs thrummed against the linens, until I could hear the scratch of the cords that held his restraints in place tugging at the bed frame. “Oh, my sweet Thomas,” a long, languid lick from base to crown.  “You want it so very badly…”

Sweat glistened on his forehead, above his upper lip; his voice was little more than a hungry rasp.  “Yes, Little Mistress.”

Another lick, a tease of my thumb over his glistening head.  “You need it.”

“Fuck,” he growled.  “Yes.  Yes, I do… please…”

The power was dizzying, intoxicating, and I closed my fist around him for one slow, torturous stroke.  “You’re nearly dying for it, aren’t you?”  The heat of my breath sent flocks of goosebumps over his skin as I leaned close to suckle lightly, only for a heartbeat, at the sensitive spot at the base of his sac.

“Jesus,” he thrashed a bit in his bonds.  “You wicked little cunt…”

I gasped a bit, shocked and amused, then bit down briskly at the juncture between thigh and groin.  He barked in pain and excited surprise, and I clicked my tongue at him. “Thomas,” I scolded.  “Is that any way to speak to your Little Mistress?”

“Oh, bloody hell, fuck me,” he groaned, pressing his head back into the pillow and licking at his dry lips.  “No.  No, Little Mistress, it’s not.  And I’m sorry.  So very, very sorry.”

“You know,” I sniffed, aloof.  “Insolence like that gives me half a mind to leave you here, trussed and trapped, with nothing but your power of will to reign in that monster between your legs.”  I rose up on my knees, spreading my dripping sex with my fingers.  “After all,” I dipped between my lips to spread the wetness of my release over every blushing petal.  “I’ve had a lovely orgasm of my own.”  I let my eyes crawl shamelessly over him.  “And the sight of you, coupled with a few clever crooks of my fingers here and there…”  I thrust index and middle up into my center and rocked my hips against them.  “Oh, Thomas…” I sighed.  “I could come again… so easily… just… like… this…”

A storm raged across the landscape of his face, dark clouds threatening to burst in downpour as his eyes flashed white hot lightening.  Then suddenly, he drew in air, held it long and silent, let it escape in a whisper. His color was still high, his temples still damp with perspiration.  But after a few slow blinks, he leveled his gaze with mine, calm, contrite.  “Forgive me, lovely Little Mistress, for my terribly disobedient mouth.  I spoke out of turn, I spoke to you with disrespect.  And if you must punish me, I can think of no better instrument of discipline than your pleasure.”  Relaxing back into the mattress, he gave a tiny nod of resignation.  “Do with me as you will.”

All at once, I was lost, looking down at him with a mixture of anger and consternation and admiring envy.  

_You fucking asshole!  How can you be both the perfect Dom AND the perfect sub?_

I searched his face for a long moment, looking for any sign of the thoughts brewing behind his brow.  Was he trying to lead by example, illustrating behavior he would then expect me to emulate in the future?  Was this homage to my own behavior in the past, those rare occasions when we’d settled into one another feeling I’d handled myself exactly right? And what was I supposed to do now?  Was I supposed to make good on my threat in some manner, leave him agonized and unfulfilled as punishment for his loss of control? The thought actually sent a twist of misery through my stomach: playing this game to such an unsatisfying end for him was in direct opposition to the exact thing that satisfied me the most.  

And that was the moment that I realized… this was his true gift to me.  This moment. This opportunity to be Dom  _and_ sub, to be top and bottom.  To make the call that was always mine to make in the bold and brazen manner I never used because it fit me ill.  This moment.  This act that was not about his discipline, but rather my fulfillment, my taking what I wanted and needed from him for reasons that belonged entirely to me.  

“Do with you as I will,” I repeated softly, reverently. “Oh, my sweet Thomas…”

His moan of delight as I closed my lips around him made my insides shudder and quake.  I laved at his length as I took him deeper, and deeper, pushing past all resistance to swallow around him with my nose buried in the soft hair above his cock and the tip of my tongue flickering the sensitive spot just below. The tense and release of his thick, muscular thighs told me he longed to buck violently into my throat, the rustle of his arms against the mattress that he ached to fist up my hair and hold me in place.  I pulled back slowly, humming at the tang of his drippings along my palate before drawing in air and descending again.  Swallow, retreat, swallow, retreat; a lazy languid rhythm that dragged him to the edge and held him there until he was growling inarticulate curses, pounding his head back into the pillows.  

Rising up, I closed my fingers around him, tugging, stroking, until he lifted his head to meet my gaze.  “How would you give yourself to me, Thomas?”  I demanded.  “Tell me quickly, before I take my hand off of you and use it on myself…”

He answered without hesitation, his voice a song of plea and command, of desire to give and need to take.  “Ride me, Little Mistress, please.  Ride me until you come all over my cock, please, until I fill that hot, sweet cunt of yours so full that you’ll feel the proof of what you do to me dripping out of you all night long.”

“Oh, Thomas,” my brow crooked as I offered him one last lascivious grin.  “So beautiful when you beg…”

It only took a moment to swing my legs over his hips, to bathe his length in my nectar with slow, easy rolls of my body.  I took him inside me with a throaty keen of elation, my head falling back on my neck.  I fucked myself onto him with abandon, twisting and turning to hit every spot that made me shiver and shake, his name falling from my lips punctuated by his gravelly grunts and groans.  I could see his hands fisting against the cuffs, could feel his hips rising off the bed to thrust into me the little he could.  Leaning over him, I smoothed my palm over his sweaty brow, danced my tongue along the seam of his lips until he opened to me.  And as the musky sweet flavor of him flooded my mouth, he arched into me with a hoarse and ragged bellow, and the sensation of his hot, wet release spurting inside me forced me into the stratosphere right behind him.  

A few sweet, sweaty kisses, and I fumbled my fingers along his wrists and ankles to unbuckle the cuffs, only feeling truly whole with his arms around me, his hands in my hair, his legs tangled through mine. He took my mouth again and again, tasting me with his eyes open, watching me, grinning when I blinked at him with sleepy contentment.  “Are you okay, Sir?”  

He nodded slowly, a curious light in his eyes. “I’m wonderful, sweet little one.” He cocked his head in inquiry. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” I nodded with a broad smile, snuggling against his chest.

He exhaled a small chuckle, drawing my thigh up over his.  “Just good?”

“Oh, I’m much better than I was, Tom, thank you,” I insisted hastily.  “I love you so much…”

He laughed a little harder as I tried to reassure him, a distinct note of relief in the sound.  “So… satisfying…?”  

I nodded enthusiastically.  “But not for everyday wearing,” I finished.

“No?”  He tugged gently at my braid.

I felt my nose scrunch as I shook my head. “No.”  I stretched against him, catlike, squealing a little when he bit playfully at one thrust-out lace-covered nipple.  “Don’t misunderstand,” I lounged back against my pillow as he continued to nuzzle into my cleavage.  “You’re a really amazing toy to play with…”  He growled low in his throat and nipped at the swell of my breast until I squirmed in his embrace.  “But I far prefer being your toy.  Your plaything.”  I sighed and cuddled against him.  “Your sweet little sub.”

“I’ve told you before, little bird,” his fingers plucked a suspender loose from my stocking, his touch teasing down between skin and lace.  “You were made for me, you truly were.  And it’s a very good thing… because…”  I yipped in surprise as he crushed me in his embrace, one arm wrapped tight around my shoulders.  “Your Dom…” I felt my jaw slack as I watched him rise above me, the comfortingly familiar regal and commanding air filling him once more. “Thinks you enjoyed that game a little too… unreservedly.” His other hand swept a sharp but playful smack against my bare ass.  “Perhaps we should leave you with a bit of a sting to help you remember for certain where your place truly is.”

Feeling the ebb and flow of our connection settle into the balance I cherished, I snickered in childish delight, pulling my legs up and pushing my curves out in invitation.  “Yes, please.”

His laugh of incredulity melted into a low and satisfied groan as I groped my lips against his mouth.  “You know what I want, darling…”

“Oh, no, no, no,” I giggled, pushing back against him. “I was a very good Domme tonight,” I sniffed from above my jutted chin.  “I think it’s  _your_ turn to tell  _me_.”

His face was indescribable beauty as he caught my neck in his hands, his thumbs stroking my cheeks as he pulled me close to whisper into my mouth.

“I am yours, my beautiful Michelle.  Completely and utterly.  Yours.”


	4. Southern Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR's NOTES: He Saw the Light, he Managed the Night, and now it's time for a little Carolina summer with his bride.

“Hey, hey, Chelley Belle, whatcha doin’ down there?”  Rich, hearty baritone.

“Daddy!”  Small, squeaky soprano.

Strong hands under skinny arms and I was flying through the Old Spice scented air.  The navy blue command insignia on his shoulder scratched lightly against my dimpled cheek as I hugged him tightly.  My fingers plucked curiously at the ribbons pinned to his chest.  A noisy kiss to my forehead, and his dancing green eyes returned to the Smith Corona Super Sterling typewriter, paper, and crayons scattered across the carpet.  “What is all this?”

“Mrs. Beasley an’ me are making a newspaper!”  I crowed happily.

“You’re making a newspaper, huh?”

I was deposited back on my Osh Kosh over-alled backside beside the blonde haired, blue-bodied doll, her worn drawstring hanging, knotted and useless, halfway down her back.  “Yup.  I make the stories and Mrs. Beasley is the chief, just like you!”

“Editor in chief,” my mother corrected gently as she crossed gracefully to replace the briefcase in my father’s hand with a tumbler filled with clinking ice and liquid amber.  “Baby, don’t peel the paper off the crayons…”

“Sorry, Mom.”  An automatic response before thumping away once again at the clackity old instrument in front of me.

“And what’s old Brown Bear doing over there?”  My father gestured to the worn teddy propped in front of the television.

“He takes the pictures,” I answered with the absent air every seven year old commands easily.

“Well, then,” my father’s laughter echoed through the room.  “Just call me William Randolph Hearst.”  His hand a delicate caress on my mother’s hip, his kiss warm against her lips.  “Think I’ll go ditch this monkey suit and sit back to run my empire.”

“Don’t get too comfortable there, mister magnate,” my mother scoffed quietly.  “The whole first front page is a scathing expose on the cranky daddy who keeps saying ‘no’ to his star reporter’s repeated pleas for a puppy…”

“Uh oh, better get the lawyers on the phone there, Ruthie, get the gag orders on tap.”  As he marched out of the room and down the hall, he paused to point and scowl at the box of Barbie dolls and My Little Mermaid figurines. “NOBODY TALKS TO THE PRESS, YOU GOT THAT…?”

 

“What say, love, ready to get started?”

Tom’s gentle tug on one of the two braids I’d plaited my hair into pulled me out of my reverie, and I turned my face up to his with a tentative smile.  “Yeah, I think I am.”

I’d been unhappy for weeks.  We’d plunged ourselves back into work rather quickly after our honeymoon ended, enjoyed a beautiful first Christmas together as husband and wife, and watched the new year blow in on a whirlwind of overwhelmingly positive press for both our marriage and my book.  Suddenly, I had publicity of my own to manage, and with the lid sealed tighter than usual on Tom’s current projects, the balance seemed off.  The filming locations for The Night Manager had offered us a delicious Swiss weekend getaway, but after that things were… disjointed, disconnected.  I returned to our London flat alone, determined to pass the time productively.  But lack of a project that truly inspired me, coupled with the silent but ever-present reminders of Tom’s absence, made each day longer and more miserable than the last.  More and more I caught myself looking out at the bleak and grey London fog, at the calendar, not only counting the days until his hiatus, but marking memories in my mind.

I bet Bill and Susan took the cover off the pool this week… Song and dance in Shakori Hills this weekend… Carolina Bluegrass Festival… I bet the magnolias are gorgeous right now…

I was thrumming with nervous energy the day of Tom’s expected return, tackling him against the front door the moment he stepped through it.  He welcomed me into his arms with a breathlessly surprised laugh, trying in vain to keep up with the desperate kisses I peppered all over his face.  “Mmmm, my little one missed me.”

“Oh, please, Tom, please,” I grabbed at his wrist as he slid his fingers under my skirt, against the warm, wet strip of silk nestled between my thighs.  “Spank me first?  Please?”

“Spank you?”  His brow furrowed in concern.  “Michelle, my love, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” I nattered, all but manic in his embrace.  “Maybe nothing.  Probably.  But maybe everything.  I don’t know,” I could hear the whine edging into my voice, and I held my shaking hands out in front of him.  “I missed you.  And it was lonely.  But I was okay… I mean… I am okay.  But I’m not…ugh!”  I fisted the front of his oxford.  “Please Tom?  It’s all a jumble.  And I can’t… I need…”

“All right, love, all right,” he caught my face in his hands and kissed my lips tenderly before shrugging off his jacket and tucking me under his arm. “Up we go then…”

Later that night, my ass throbbing pleasantly with wheals and welts the shape of the paddle, I lay draped across his body, nibbling at his lips, his chin, his chest. “Thank you, Tom,” I whispered over and over again.  “Thank you so much.  Thank you.”

“Oh, little love,” he held me close, pushed my hair back from my sweat dampened brow.  “You don’t need to thank me.”  He teased a finger down the line of my nose.  “But you do need to tell me where all this is coming from.”  His thumb pushed firmly against the scrunch of my brow.  “Come on, Michelle, out with it.”

I bit down on my lower lip, knowing I had no reason to feel guilty, but feeling guilty anyway.  “Tom… I think I’m homesick.”

And so now, ten days later, we stood in the empty living room of the house in Hope Valley, the house I’d grown up in, the house that passed to me when my father passed away.  The old sofa and love seat had been donated and hauled away by a local charity, the new overstuffed sectional sat pushed against the windowed wall next to my dad’s old leather La-Z-Boy recliner, both hidden under the same canvas cloths that covered the floor and the rest of the furniture.  The crown molding was protected by painter’s tape, as were the edges of the fireplace, and two deep pans of Mazarine blue sat on the floor with rollers propped beside them.  “I’m still not sure,” I grumbled playfully as I dipped my brush into the glossy stain, “why the drop cloth is necessary.  I mean, there’s a crew coming tomorrow to tear the carpet out anyway.”

“Because, darling,” Tom sighed wearily, reaching over to press play on his iPod.  “We are neither savages nor slobs.”

Three hours and thirty-some songs later, the benign beige of the walls had been all but swallowed by the bright cerulean we’d chosen.  I was balanced on the ladder, filling in the seam between wall and ceiling while Tom squatted to do the same at the floorboards.  I was lost, singing along with Ed Sheeran, when a sudden exclamation from below jerked me back to the moment.  “Hey, brat!” Tom’s voice was an exasperated laugh.  “Watch what you’re doing!”  I looked down, blanching and giggling at the spattering of azure drops that dotted the shoulder of his white t-shirt, the shell of his ear, the side of his face.  

“Oh, God,” I snorted in amusement as he pulled the garment over his head, using it to wipe his face clean.  “It was an accident… I didn’t realize.  I’m so sorry!”  He shot me a half-hearted glare before returning to his work.  I returned to mine as well, but after a moment, struck with impish inspiration, I flicked the brush in my hand once more, watching the specks of paint rain down over the muscular ridges of his back.  

“Michelle!”  he snapped, incredulous.  “THAT was NOT an accident!”

“It was!” I lied, insistent.  “Seriously… I’m sorry.  I’ll be more careful.”

He narrowed his eyes at me.  “See that you are.”

I managed to concentrate on my task at hand for a few more moments before temptation overwhelmed me, and I splashed another constellation over his skin.  “Goddammit, you little terror!”  he snarled good-naturedly.  I laughed mischievously into my hand until he seized my ankle, making me gasp and grab for purchase.  

“Tom!” I squawked.  “I’m on a ladder!”

“Oh, not for long.”  He rose to his full height with fluid grace and yanked me effortlessly from my perch.  I shrieked breathlessly as his fingers tickled over my ribs; he was chuckling as well as he dragged me to the floor and pinned my arms with his knees.  “So?”  He reached over to the paint pan, dipping the tip of one finger into the gloss.  “Feeling creative, are we?”

“Tom!” I giggled madly in spite of myself.  “You wouldn’t!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t?”  He dipped his touch into the hollow of my throat, dragged it down into the vee of my neckline, leaving a wet, blue stripe in its wake.  

“Tom!”  I squirmed fruitlessly beneath him as he pulled up my tank top to draw squiggles around my navel as well.  “This is not fair!”

“Oh, my love,” he leaned over to purr into my mouth, “whoever said life was fair?”  Dropping a final dot on the tip of my nose, he captured my lips with his.  I opened to him, beckoning him deeper with my tongue, and he released my arms as he accepted the invitation.  I wrapped them around him, spreading the splashes of blue into streaks across his back, until I felt him melt into me.  Then, as quickly as I was capable, I stretched until my fingers closed around the handle of a roller.  His bark of surprise when I dragged it down the length of his spine made me shiver with delight, but my laugh of triumph dissolved quickly into pathetic pleading as he wrestled the brush away from me and proceeded to take his revenge.  

Before long, we were a jumble of arms and legs and torsos covered in paint, each looking as Jotun as Loki ever did.  I was begging and breathless when he finally tossed the roller aside, pinning me once more beneath him and smoothing the stray strands of hair from my forehead and cheeks.  His eyes were dancing with mirth and his smile was radiant and relaxed.  “There are my dimples,” he purred softly, nuzzling my cheek with a satisfied air.  “I’ve missed them.”

I could feel myself flushing at his words, and I was suddenly overwhelmed by an urgent need to have him close.  “Tom…”  The desperation in my voice was plain, and he paused only to sweep my soaked and sticky shirt over my head before catching my lips with his own.  I tangled my fingers through his hair as the kiss burned, cooled, and reignited hotter than before.  Passionate and playful, we pulled and peeled at our remaining clothing until we were no more than skin and sweat, touch and taste, and his voice floated melodically between my ears, “God, I love you so much…” as he made us one with one slow, fluid roll of his hips.  

His forehead came to rest against mine as he guided my legs up around his waist, his fingers dragging streaks through the paint on my thighs.  I whimpered shyly as his eyes bore into mine, staring, watching, memorizing every nuance as he held me, kissed me, moved within me.  “Tell me, Michelle,” he gasped between deep, languid thrusts.  “Jesus Christ… tell me…”

“I’m yours, Tom, I’m yours,” I sobbed, the words pushed from my lungs on the force of his body surging between my legs as I clung to him.  He groaned into my mouth as my nails dug into his shoulders, and I locked my ankles behind his knees as he began to pump harder, faster.  He buried his face in my neck, sucking greedily at his spot beneath my ear; my head hit the floor beneath me with a thump when I threw it back in delight.  His teeth nipped sharply at my skin.  “Not until I say, little one,” he growled through a grin.

I whined in pouty protest, wriggling up into him as if the sensation would change his mind.  “To-om…”

His body stilled at once, and he rose up to look down on me, one eyebrow sternly cocked.  “Should I rephrase… not unless I say?”

I blanched, chagrined, knowing he was both deadly serious and completely capable of following through.  “No, Sir.  Please…”

His expression softened a bit, the curtain of his own desire descending over his features once more.  “Good girl,” he nuzzled the tip of his nose against mine as he reached up to catch my wrists.  Unhooking my grip from his shoulders, he slid from me to turn me under him, only to plunge deep once more, his forehead resting against the nape of my neck.  

We were spent and sweaty and still streaked with blue when we finally stumbled into the shower, our combined release dripping deliciously down the inside of my thighs.  The water was sizzling hot, and we were soon engulfed in fragrant steam.  Our soaped palms slipped easily over each other’s bodies, gently scrubbing away the cerulean stains as we watched the inky swirls vanish down the drain.  I closed my eyes and let the spray rain over my face as Tom untwisted my braids, scrubbing the lacquer from them with gentle and reverent care.  Once my locks hung slick and smooth down my back, he pulled me close, nibbling at my earlobe as I shivered in his arms.

The gauzy white sundress was draped across the foot of the bed when I emerged from the bathroom, next to a matching bra and panties set I’d never seen before.  Delicate Spanish lace edged in satin, I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe somewhere a matching belt with suspenders and stockings waited for a day that wasn’t so sunny and hot.  I immediately pulled free the clips I’d used to pin my hair up, letting it tumble loose and tousled around my shoulders, then dressed quickly, missing him already.

He was golden and gorgeous, dressed in a dark blue t-shirt and long khaki shorts, his tanned and sculpted legs crossed at the ankle as he lounged in the still-covered armchair.  Smelling of sandalwood and citrus, his blonde head was bent over his cellular as he waited for me.  “Did you still want to replace the light fixture in the breakfast nook?”  he asked absently.  “There’s a really beautiful Tiffany glass at this little shop on Capital…”  He glanced up at me, and I couldn’t help but blush as his jaw sagged a bit, his hands falling limply to his lap.  “Michelle,” he breathed softly.  “You look like an angel.”  His grin widened as he twirled a finger in the air.  “Give us a spin.”  I obeyed happily, feeling light and pretty as I twirled in front of him, the hem of my skirt flaring out around my legs.  He cocked his head in a come-hither nod, and I stepped closer, mewling quietly as he passed a warm palm up the inside of my thigh. “Perfect.”

We’d rented a Jeep almost exactly like the one I’d driven before crossing the ocean to the home we would share, and so things felt absurdly uncelebrity when he eased it off the road and into the dirt lot next to the Only Burger I’d been missing for months.  We sidled our way to a tiny table and I teased my ankle along his leg as we gorged on burgers and onion rings and fried green tomatoes.  From there it was into town for shopping; new sheets for the bed, a new kitchen table to replace the one that was at least as old as I was, the small stained glass chandelier Tom had found on his phone.  We held hands as we walked the strip, and my stomach twisted pleasantly every time I looked up into his face to see his calm and heart-warming delight at an afternoon spent living an ordinary life.  

We were just finished unloading our haul when I paused in the doorway between the living room and kitchen, glancing down at the molding.  “Well, shit, we thought the painting was done…”

Tom placed the new light fixture carefully on the counter before moving to join me, his brow furrowed in question.  “What do you mean?”

I offered him a wry little grin as I pointed.  “I’d forgotten about those.”

He followed the gesture with his eyes, then bent to run his fingers over the hash marks and dates that laddered their way up the wood.  His face was full of nostalgic wonder as he looked up at me.  “Are these you?”  I nodded, and he chuckled warmly.  “Little Michelle.”  He squinted at the date next to the highest line, only a foot and a half short of my height, before straightening once more.  “You didn’t grow much after ten, did you?”

“Shut up,” I laughed, chagrined, swatting playfully at his shoulder.  

“Well, one thing is certain,” he mused, striding purposefully across the tile and opening one of the drawers.  He rummaged for a moment before plucking a Sharpie from inside, twirling it in his fingers before returning to my side.  “We absolutely will not be painting over those.”  He caught me by the shoulders and backed me up until I was flush with the jamb.  “Stand up straight, love, there’s a good girl.”

“Tom,” I rolled my eyes.  “You’re not serious.”  He cocked an eyebrow, his jaw set, and with an exasperated sigh, I squared my posture.

“There now,” he hummed, drawing a line flush with then top of my head and scribbling the date beside it.  “That was painless, was it not?”  His eyes darkened a bit, his tongue tracing slowly over his lips.  His expression made my own mouth run dry, and he pressed his length against me, pinning me to the wall.  “I think I like you like this, love.”

I swallowed hard.  “Yes, Tom.”

“Hands up, darling,” he instructed, shaking his head when I held them next to my ears.  “Higher.”

“Oh, God…”  My knees were trembling as I stretched my arms as high as they could go.  Tom caught them at the wrist, holding them in place as he nudged my legs apart with his own.  His free hand came to rest on my thigh, drawing the fabric of my skirt up into his fist.  When his fingertips met skin, he slid his touch down to the waistband of my panties, tracing it along the curve of my belly.  

“Do you like these, love?”  he asked, his voice deep and husky as he tugged playfully at the lace below my navel.

“I do,” I nodded slowly.  “They’re so beautiful.”

He hummed through his nose in agreement.  “I knew the moment I saw them that they were for you.”  He lay his forehead against mine, his eyes burning intensely.  “I knew I needed to see you in them, to feel you through them…”  He lowered his mouth to my neck, biting gently at the ligaments of my quivering throat.  “To make you wet inside them…”  I gasped helplessly as he pressed the flat of his hand against me, his fingers rubbing firmly over my rapidly swelling lips, “and you do get so very wet for me, darling.”

“Yes, Tom,” I panted, arching into his touch.

“Such a good girl,” he praised, drawing lazy circles around my clit while watching my eyes dilate then close under the delicious wave of sensation.  “Always so ready, always so responsive…”

“Yes, Tom…” I grunted, trying desperately to push myself closer, completely unashamed of how hungry I was for him.  “Yes, Sir… please…”

“Oh, Michelle,” he growled, pausing to take a brief taste of my mouth.  “You know how much I love to hear you beg.”

“Tom,” I sobbed, agonized and excited.  “Please… please…”

He raised his head a notch, looking down at me sternly.  “What do you want, sweet?”

“I… I…”  I stuttered, whimpering and biting down on my lower lip as his hand left me, instead catching my panties and pulling them snug against flesh that only wanted his.  “Tom… please! I…”

“You what, love?” His tone calm, full of firm but tender command.

“I… please…. I…”

He took a deep breath through his nose, exhaled slowly.  “What do you want, Michelle?”

“Touch me,” I twisted and writhed in his grip.  “Put your hand back on me, please, Tom.  Please… touch me…”

He kissed me, soft and sweet, then pulled back again.  “Why?”

I blanched, my jaw dropping slack.  “Wh… what?”

“Why, Michelle?” he repeated patiently, giving the lace in his grip another teasing tug.  “Why do you want me to touch you?”

“Because…” I stammered, warring with my stubborn mouth to spit the words out.  “B-b-because…”  His gaze locked with mine, fiery with love and encouragement, and I cried out in grateful desperation.  “Because I want to come, Sir.”

His smile was radiant triumph, his voice a velvet caress.  “You do?”  He nuzzled into my neck.  “You want to come for me, sweetheart?”

“Yes, Tom, please,” I gibbered frantically.  “Please let me come for you, please…”  My words trailed off into an incoherent moan of ecstasy as his hand slid under the flimsy barrier that separated us, two long fingers filling me in one smooth stroke.  His tongue danced teasingly into my open mouth as he curled his fingertips, pressing and pulling at me until my hips were bucking in tandem.  He knew exactly where to rub, how deep to thrust, how hard to tug to reduce me to a pleading, shaking jumble; before long, my eyes were rolling back in my head as wave after wave of unbearably intense pleasure coursed through every muscle and nerve.  

“Oh, that’s it, little one,” he murmured against my lips, his gaze laser focused on my expression.  “Show me, love.  Let me see how good it feels…”

“Oh, Tom,” I gasped, trying in vain to catch his mouth in a kiss.  “So good…”

A lusty shadow crossed his face as his hand moved harder, faster, his thumb finding my clit and teasing its throbbing head.  My body clenched around him, and he growled in delight.  “Come on, Michelle,” he nipped at my bottom lip, driving me higher and higher, dancing me along the cliff face, holding me tight as I started to swing out over the edge.  “Jesus, you are so beautiful when you fall apart like this…”  His fingers shifted inside me, applying unrelenting pressure to that magic spot behind my pubic bone.  “Finish it, love.  Come for me now…”

“Ohhh, Tom… fuck… fuck!”  My head hit the doorjamb behind me as I convulsed violently, his words allowing the tightly wound coil of my orgasm to unfurl, sending shockwaves rocketing through me and drawing my release out in a flood over his wrist.  My hands fluttered in his grasp as he stretched me, lifting me up onto my tiptoes until only his hold on my arms and his body crushed against mine kept me from crumpling to the floor.  He watched with warm, affectionate approval as I panted and wailed through every spark and spasm, twisting his fingers inside me and flicking his thumb tenderly over me to draw every thread of satisfaction out as long as he possibly could.  I’d nearly screamed myself hoarse when he finally slid his hand from between my legs, teasing his touch over my lips until I opened for him.  I lapped at him eagerly with my tongue, sucking the musky sweet flavor of myself from his skin as he stole little tastes with kisses of his own.

It was effortless to slide to my knees between his legs, it only took a moment for my shaking fingers to fumble open his belt and fly.  His head fell back on his neck as I took him into my throat with one ravenous, grateful lunge, his hands gripping the molding of the wall until his knuckles paled.  “Oh Christ, darling,” he groaned as I swallowed around him.  “Such a sinfully talented little mouth…”  

Silky and salty, he slid easily inside my slick and hungry mouth, the rolls of his hips deep and fluid and graceful.  The muscles of his buttocks clenched beneath my hands as I encouraged his motion, scraping my nails gently over the taut curves.  The soft curls below his navel were tickling at my nose when I felt his fingers slip into my hair, heard his husky command.  “Look at me, little one.”  

I lifted my eyes, and nearly wept at the sight.  The overhead light shone through the gold atop his head, turning his hair to a shining corona above his smooth, proud English brow.  His eyes were shining sapphires as he watched me work my mouth over him, his grip tugging me carefully this way and that to maximize his pleasure.  His lip was caught between his strong, even teeth, but his dimples were sunk in his cheeks as he smiled down at me.  “Slow, love, slow,” he directed quietly.  “Let me savor you.”

My jaw was wracked with a delicious ache, and it took every ounce of strength I had left not to cough and gag while holding his thick, straining length deep inside my throat, but I couldn’t have cared less.  I could feel his pulse throbbing in the broad, heavy vein that ran the underside of his cock, hear the tiny shudder that crept into his breathing as I caressed the full sac between his thighs, rubbed my fingertips firmly against the sensitive spot behind it.  “Fuck… clever little minx…”  He leaned back, angling my head to his best use.  I let myself go slack beneath him, and his eyes rolled close as his thrusts began to pick up speed.  “Oh, yes… good girl… such a fucking good girl.”  I moaned wantonly, knowing the sound would vibrate through him, urging him on.  “Jesus, Michelle, you’re gonna make me come…”

Yes please, Tom, please, I begged silently, massaging his balls, prodding firmly at his perineum.  Come in my mouth, please.  Let me taste you.

His fists clenched in my hair, his Adam’s apple worked silently in his throat.  And then his voice tore free from his lips in an exquisite, inarticulate moan, and the heady tang of his fluids splashed hotly across my palate.  I hollowed my cheeks around him, stroked my tongue against the pulsations that flowed beneath his skin until he was stumbling back, falling to his knees and dragging my mouth to his.  I wound my arms around his neck, pulling his weight against me as we kissed one another breathless, melting to the floor in a sweaty, sated heap.  We were still lying in that doorway when my stomach rumbled loud enough for both of us to hear, when Tom pulled his phone from his pocket with a grin.

The pizza arrived half an hour later.  We ate it in bed, curled naked around one another and sipping beer from the same bottle.

I awoke the next morning to the whine of a circular saw and the sudden staccato bursts of a hammer on wood.  Tom’s side of the bed was empty and cool, but the coffee in the cup on my nightstand was hot, fresh and fragrant.  I sipped it while I threw on shorts and a t-shirt and plaited my hair into a long, loose braid.  Tom was shirtless above black track shorts, looking no different from the rest of the flooring crew as he hauled rolls of the old Berber and linoleum out to the disposal and carried in bundles of the Santos Mahogany we’d selected for the living room, dining room and hallway, as well as pallets of the terra cotta travertine tile for the kitchen.  Our good morning kiss was scrumptiously sweaty, as were the few we were able to steal here and there through the rest of that busy afternoon.  

It took two days to flip the floors, plus another to haul away the railroad ties and sod over the long suffering patches that really hadn’t been gardens since my mother died.  Days that were long and laborious, full of contractors and craftsmen that drifted in and around and about, days that ended shortly after sunset with us collapsing into bed too exhausted to do anything but sleep, spooned together on the same pillow.

I blinked my eyes open just after two, feeling the warm tickling caress of his breath across my forehead as my vision adjusted to the dark.  I toyed absently with the fine hair that dusted his chest as I considered waking him, but the hypnotically slow lubbing of his heart beneath my ear and the perfectly peaceful look on his sleeping face persuaded me to leave him to his rest.  With a small sigh, I eased myself carefully from the bed, stretching in the moonlight that spilled through the open curtain.  I cast a rueful eye at the short, sheer nightshirt I’d left on the dresser in optimistic expectation; then, with a shrug, I pulled it over my head and tiptoed quietly down the hall.

The brand new ceramic was cool against the balls of my feet, and everything seemed to have a new echo as I pulled open the refrigerator and poured a glass of water.  I sipped silently as I crossed to the back door, gazing dreamily out at the yard.  The first diamonds of morning dew were just starting to sparkle on the blades of grass, and a low, lazy mist drifted just above the ground.  I slid the glass aside and stepped into the balmy cool, inhaling the persimmon and magnolia and fescue that drifted around me like a sweet, summer curtain.  I wiggled my toes in the deep, mossy green, smiling at the memories it evoked: bathing suits and barbecues, sunburned noses and scraped knees.  

The maple had stood in its place at the back corner of the yard for decades.  It towered over me my entire childhood, and was one of the few things that seemed as impressively big now as I’d perceived it back then.  The ropes that held the board swing to one of the bottom branches was sun-bleached but sturdy as ever, and rippled between my fingers like rough silk.  The board itself had been cut and sanded by my father; I ran my palm over the carved heart and the letters within – J. O., R. O., M. O.  He’d labored for days to get it all just right; I swear his eyes were as bright and big as my own when he’d lifted me onto it for the very first time.  

“Hey, hey, Chelley Belle… ready to fly?”

The plank was cold and smooth against my bare skin, the branch groaned amiably under my weight as I curled my fingers around the rope.  I pushed off with my toes, stretched, pulled, and closed my eyes against the cool evening breeze as I took flight once more.  I swung to the singing of wood and hemp, feeling the wind on my face as my toes touched the sky, lost in the simple magic of a child’s simple toy.

I have no idea how he made his way across the yard without making a sound, or how long he watched from his hiding place behind the ancient trunk.  Long enough to learn the speed and strength of the arc I cut, so that when he finally stepped out of the shadows, like a rogue pirate from some fantasy fairy tale, he was able to catch me from behind without being knocked off his feet.  His arms slid easily around my waist, he buried his face in the bluster of my hair as he brought me back to Earth.  “Well, well, well,” he purred into its depths, making me shiver.  “What have we here?”  

I turned my head to catch the corner of his jaw with my lips.  “Hi,” I breathed softly.

“Naughty girl,” he chided through a chuckle.  “You should have awoken me if you couldn’t sleep and were in the mood to play.”  I opened my mouth to reply, only to have the words die on my lips as his teeth closed on my shoulder, as his hands slid down to push my legs apart, rubbing teasingly along the inside of my thighs.  “Oooh, very naughty girl,” he smirked when his fingertips found me bare beneath my sleepshirt.  “You definitely should have awoken me if you’re in the mood to play like this.”

“Tom,” I sighed longingly as he began to stroke, slowly, gently, his other hand rising to grip my hair and pull my head back on my neck.  “You’d never get any rest at all.”

He laughed, a warm, throaty sound that sent a flush of delight through my belly.  “Darling girl,” he tugged at my earlobe with his teeth.  “We both know I’d have you begging for mercy long before I’d be ready to drop.”  He released me abruptly, and I yipped an excited giggle at the brisk smack he landed on my ass.  “Up…”

I slid from the swing and spun on my toes, biting my lip coyly as I watched him circle the board to sit down upon it himself.  I raised an eyebrow as the loose-fitting pajama pants he’d pulled on tented around his erection; he grinned at me with rakish masculine pride as he plucked free the button at his waistband.  The thin cotton plackets parted easily, and he held out his hand in invitation.  “Swing with me?”

I was already soaring when I laced my fingers through his.  “Yes, please.”  

His palms were warm against my skin as he helped me keep my balance, guiding my legs between the ropes and his hips.  He gazed up at me with quiet desire, gripping his cock and teasing its leaking head between my slick and swollen lips. I lowered myself onto him, mewling like a kitten as he buried his face between my breasts.  I curled my fingers into his hair as the sandpaper stubble along his lips and jaw scratched tiny lines of heat into my skin, his tongue soothing the burn in quick, teasing flickers.  I whispered his name and he lifted his head, smiling into the kisses I offered.  His fingers twisted their way into the hair at my scalp, his lips sealing over mine, anchoring me to him.  His legs pushed and flexed until we were swaying in a gentle arc, drifting into the dark ocean that was the starless sky above.  

Slow, sensual, the rocking motion moved us together, the breeze ghosting across our bodies and prickling at the perspiration that beaded from our pores.  One moment, the movement was pushing me closer to him, flattening my breasts against his chest while pushing my pelvis down against his; the next it was pulling me back, giving me room to roll and writhe against him.  One languid swirl of my hips made him gasp in delight, breaking his mouth away from mine and widening his eyes.  I tightened my grip on the ropes as he leaned me back, his hands holding me firmly by the waist, using the leverage to vault our bodies just a bit higher and to press his cock just a bit deeper.  “Oh, Tom,” I flexed around him.

“Shhh, love,” he soothed, nudging his hips up while pulling mine down.  “Trust me…”

His voice wrapped around my brain, caressed its way down my spine, and the body that had become his responded like the truest seaworthy vessel ruddering to the loving hand of its captain.  He guided me gracefully through that magical to and fro, casting me far, reeling me back, pulling me deep, then holding me close as we broke surface together.  Our cries of elation mingled, melded, crested as one, and when our feet at last found solid ground once more, there was only silver moonlight, the song of the crickets, and slowing thump of his heart beneath my hand.  

He was still inside me when he rose, carrying me back to our bed and spreading me out across its expanse like newly discovered treasure.  He stripped away the gossamer of my nightgown to taste the ivory of my skin, the tourmaline peaks of my nipples, the flushed ruby flesh that still throbbed between my legs.  He used the gauzy garment to bind my wrists behind my back when my troublesome hands tugged at his hair, desperate to distract him from my swollen clit and labia that I wasn’t sure could handle one more orgasm.  But he knew.

Tom always knows.

The early morning sun was just peeking through the blinds when he finally stretched out beside me.  He kissed my hair as I curled wearily around him, grateful for the reprieve yet somehow still frantic for contact; if I could have worn him like a second skin, I would have.  He seemed to glow inside my embrace, basking in the connection we shared, in his command that I followed, in my contentment that he created.  His fingertips played a sonata down the length of my arm, his lips whispered my name to the shining motes that danced lazily on the air.  “Feeling better, little one?”

I nodded earnestly, pressing a kiss to the warm spot above his heart.  “You always make it better, Tom.”

“Good,” he hummed, satisfied.  “I’m glad.”  He took a moment to look around what had been my parents’ room, before the matching birch dressers and sled frame had been hauled away and replaced by armoires of rich walnut that complemented the new head and footboards of the bed.  Before the floor-to-ceiling blinds had been removed from the accordion glass panel doors in favor of thick drapes of black and grey, blue and violet.  Before the faded scents of bergamot, rose, and clove, and of jasmine, lilac and lily had been replaced by those of cedarwood, sweet orange and nutmeg, and by orchid, amber and vanilla.  “Does it still feel like home, love?”

I rose up on my elbows, stroking a finger over the sweet, thin bow of his lips.  “When I’m with you, Tom,” I kissed him tenderly.  “I’m always home.”

It was his turn to flush under adoring words, and he stroked his fingers over the rings he’d placed on my left hand.  “Then tell me, Michelle…”

He’s never tired of hearing it.  A blessing, really.  Because I will never, ever be able to say it enough.

“I’m yours, Tom.

I’m yours.”

 

 


	5. Comic Relief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AUTHORS NOTES: It’s not Loki taking Hall H by storm, but it’s THE Con, and he is Tom… how could a girl resist?
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: D/s relationship, graphic sexual content

There is just something about San Diego sunshine.  It’s a bright golden beacon without a harsh, cutting edge; it’s a warm caress without the oppressive heat.  And when it’s spilling across the bare, wet chest of a Tom Hiddleston fresh from the shower, it’s just that much more beautiful.

His blonde curls were heavy and dripping across his forehead as he stepped from the hotel bathroom in a billow of fragrant steam, a crisp white towel swathed around his waist.  “You know you can’t stay in that bed all day,” he chuckled, cutting me a sidelong glance as he rubbed another over his head.

I stretched languidly beneath the sheets before rolling onto my stomach, curling around his pillow with a purring yawn.  “Oh, yes, I can,” I grinned.  “I’m not the hottest item on the menu today.  I can lay here all day and watch bad TV and nap when I please and order room service, and I bet I could do it all without even getting dressed.”

“Mmm,” he growled, crossing to kneel on the mattress and lean down for a kiss.  “I’m all for unfettered nudity…”  His tongue teased its way between my lips and I hummed appreciatively at the mingled flavors of mint and coffee that filled my mouth.  And then his hand landed briskly on the curve of my ass, the thin barrier of the high thread count sheet doing little to dull the sting.  “But you are the one who prattled on and on about never having been to Comic Con before.”  The roll of my eyes and the childish raspberry I blew earned me another hearty smack.  “Besides, Jess has already texted twice to remind me that you’re hers for at least a couple of hours.”

That made me bounce upright on the bed with a gleeful grin.  “Girl’s lunch!”

“Mmm-hmm,” he nodded, nuzzling the tip of his nose around mine.  “So I suggest you get that luscious, lazy ass in gear…” Another slow, soft kiss and a gentle tug to my hair, and I rolled myself out of the still-warm bed with a groan.  I stretched up on my tiptoes before heading to the bathroom, giggling a bit smugly at the responding twitch from beneath my husband’s towel as he watched me go.

As hard as it was to leave the linen cocoon that Tom and I had shared the night before, it was almost as difficult not to linger too long in the balmy shower that still smelled of him – his skin and sweat and shampoo – and I took a moment to silently berate myself for trading an extra thirty minutes of sleep for the chance to greet the day under the warm and heady spray with him wet and slick in my arms.

I could hear him when I stepped out onto the warm tile floor, chatting politely into his phone with one handler or another, and I pushed the door closed as I slipped into my lingerie for the day and picked up my hairdryer.  I was bent at the waist, doing my best to chase the water from the heavy locks at the base of my skull when I felt his hands grip my hips.  I squealed as he rolled playfully against me, letting me feel the ample weight of his interest grinding against my ass as I stumbled for balance. “I do love it when you wear your hair down,” he growled into my neck before leaving a purple-pink brand that would just peek out from under the shoulder strap of my Lela Rose linen silk dress.

It’s almost impossible for a woman to do her hair and make-up without really looking in the mirror, but after nearly making us late for event after event with my insecure scrutinizing, I had elevated it to my own special art form.  So I crimped and coiffed with as much mechanical indifference as I could muster, finding and trusting the affirmation that I needed in Tom’s shining eyes and approving smile.  “You look amazing, darling,” he pulled me close, trailing a fingertip along the pale grey scalloped satin that held my breasts in place, his other hand cupping my ass through the matching panties.

“Me?” I snorted a little, leaning back in his embrace to eye his white t-shirt.  “Look at you, all Pine-y and buff and busting out of your clothes.”

He sniffed in mock offense, swaying me a bit in the circle of his arms.  “I’m hardly busting out of my clothes, love.”

“Really?”  I teased, tugging at the v-neck and quirking my head curiously.  “It’s not like you’ve got a ton of room to breathe in here…”

“Michelle…” His voice was full of spirited caveat that I was only too happy to ignore.

“I’m serious, Tom.  What is this shirt, like, two sizes too small?”

His grip on my buttocks tightened, pulling me up onto my tiptoes against him.  “Keep it up, brat.”

I furrowed my brow in affected contemplation.  “I wonder how many fangirls are going to go squealing online about how good you look, how cut you are, how they’d kill or die to be as close to you as this shirt…”

“Sassy little shit,” he grinned, slipping a hand under my hair and curling his fingers in the soft strands close to my scalp.  He pulled my head back while his other hand gracefully unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his fly.  “Can’t keep that wicked little mouth shut?  Let’s put it to work, shall we?”  I reached to help him with his zipper as he put me on my knees, only to gasp in delight when he gave my hair a brisk tug.  “I didn’t ask for your hands, love.”

“I’m sorry, Tom,” I managed to purr before his leaking crown was pushing between my lips.  His groan of pleasure made me shiver, and I tangled my hands together at the small of my back in order to keep from grabbing at him and pulling him closer.  I hollowed my cheeks and drew at him greedily as he let his head fall back on his neck, his eyes closing in unashamed ecstasy.

“Tongue out, sweetheart… that’s it… oh, Jesus Christ, Michelle, suck…”

It was quick and rough and absolutely perfect, his hand in my hair pulling me down as his rolling, pumping hips pushed up, filling my throat in smooth, quick thrusts.  I fought against every cough and gag, swallowing around him, lapping at him with my tongue.  My lips were folded protectively over my teeth, and I could feel the dull, delicious pinpricks of pain as they started to swell beneath his playful punishment.  But even as his body kept its brutal pace and pressure, his palm was warm and gentle as he caressed my jaw.  “Look at me, my love.”

I did as I was told, and he pulled his throbbing length from my mouth, bending my body back in front of him just as he started to spill.  I drank in every detail, memorizing the exquisitely agonized bliss in his wide blown eyes, the clench of his jaw, the taut cords of his neck.   The coarse, gravelly edge to his voice vibrated through me as he growled his way through every electric pulsation of his orgasm; I shivered under the splashes of wet, sticky heat that painted my skin as he worked his hand over his cock.  One streak dripped down between the swells of my cleavage, several more trailed down my over stomach, and he smiled in satisfaction as he allowed me to taste the last, lingering drops directly from his waning length. “There you are, darling,” he teased before dusting a gentle kiss to my lips.  “No one will be closer to me today then you are, now will they?”

He helped me to my feet with a rakish grin before tucking himself back into his trousers, all efficiency and business-as-usual once again.  I sighed at the gnawing, unsatisfied ache between my own legs as I crossed to the wardrobe to slip my dress off its hanger and over my head.  Tom was behind me a heartbeat later, nuzzling the skin at the center of my spine before pulling the zipper up to hide it.  His fingers spread the thick locks of my hair into a dark curtain across my back, and he pulled me to stand in front of the mirror beside him.  His gaze scanned the dress approvingly – the cut that hugged my torso and fanned in an asymmetric line below my knees, the shining silver base a compliment to the jacket he’d selected to wear himself, the plum-colored violets splashed across the skirt a perfect match to my modest-heeled sandals.  “Absolutely gorgeous, sweet,” he praised, and my cheeks pinked beneath his warm and loving kiss.

He was just pulling the door to the suite closed behind us when I gasped in dismay.  “Wait!”  He watched me, perplexed as I pushed it back, bolting through it and into the sleeping room where my suitcase lay open beside the dresser.  “Darling,” I could hear the slight strain in his tone as I dug into its depths.  “The car is waiting… and I’ve got a rather tight schedule to keep…”

“I know, I’m sorry!” I whimpered, groping frantically beneath the layers of clothing I’d over-packed before leaving our home in London.  “I forgot something… just a sec…”  My fingers grazed the Armani box and I grabbed it with a sigh of relief, wrestling it out and hurrying back to the hallway.

“What’s this?”  His smile was childishly delighted as I thrust it into his hands while we bustled towards the elevator.

“Open it,” I urged as we stepped inside, pressing the button for the lobby as Tom complied, bouncing on the balls of my feet in nervous anticipation.

“Oh, Michelle,” he breathed, touched and impressed, as the soft overhead light winked off the silver detailing of the watch tucked inside.  “This is exquisite.”  I was already working the clasp of his Tom-Tom, flipping it off his wrist and tucking it into the box as he buckled the Emporio in its place.  He stroked a finger over the face, then reached over to do the same to my cheek.  “Thank you, sweetheart, I love it,” he caught my neck and drew me close, and I caressed the stubble of his jaw as we shared one more sweet, silent kiss.  The muted chime announcing our arrival echoed through the car, and we parted just before the doors slid open on the beginnings of the controlled chaos we’d both been looking forward to for weeks.

The San Diego Convention Center was already surrounded by throngs of people: fans, press, and participants alike.  The dark tinted windows of the nondescript sedan that had shuttled us from the hotel allowed us to smile and stare at the crowds of spectators muttering excitedly over their schedules and the cosplayers comparing efforts and posing for cameras without attracting attention.  I hovered at the window as Tom ticked away at his cellular, then wriggled closer to him as the vehicle rounded the corner.  The red carpet arrival gauntlet came into view, awash in lights and flashbulbs and microphones, and my stomach plummeted through my feet.  “Oh, God…”

“Relax, my love,” he soothed, winding a comforting arm around my shoulder and exhaling warm breath across my neck. “This is where the fun begins.”

“I-I don’t know, Tom,” I shook my head nervously.  “This… I don’t know… maybe you should do this part without me.”

“Absolutely not,” he sniffed, his voice warm and gentle but full of irrefutable command.  “I’ve been waiting to show you off on a grand scale for months, and I can’t think of a better place or time.  Besides,” he took my face in his hands, his warm blue gaze holding mine, “you’ve quite a few red carpets in your immediate future, Mrs. Hiddleston.  You’d better start getting used to them now.”  I blanched a bit as I realized he was right, and he rubbed his thumb over the sudden hard and rapid pulsing beneath the corner of my jaw.

“Tom,” I squeaked, but a tender finger to my lips stopped my protests.

“They’re going to love you, Michelle,” he reassured me with a gentle kiss to my forehead.  “I promise.”

I wished that quiet moment could have gone on forever, those fluttering heartbeats where he looked at me with all the admiration and approval a woman could ever want from the man she loves.  But then the car lurched mildly to a halt, and the low, bustling hum of the activity that awaited seeped in through the thick glass of the closed window.  I swallowed hard and offered a numb, reflexive nod, and Tom kissed me once more as he plaited his fingers through mine.  “Just hold my hand, love.  You’ll shine out there, I promise.”

“Okay,” I exhaled a watery sigh.  “You won’t let go?”

The door opened suddenly on the dull buzz of the crowd, but his affirmation was clear.  “Never.”

Flashbulbs popped and voices raised, calling his name as he helped me to my feet before turning to the onlookers with a long-armed, friendly wave.  I forced myself to keep my head up as he ushered me into place in front of the panels with the iconic spying eye, silently congratulating myself for making it to the first stop on the gauntlet without tripping over my own feet. But then his hand caressed the small of my back, slid around to hold the curve of my hip, and suddenly, the ground beneath me was solid once more.  We smiled at the cameras, at each other, and before long a few photographers were calling my name alone, their flapping hands waving Tom out of frame.  He beamed, the picture of masculine pride, and with a gentle tug to my hair, did as they bade.  Somehow I managed to keep myself composed for a few eternal moments; just when I was certain my pounding heart was going to explode within my chest, I was grabbed from the side and smothered by slim, pale arms and fiery red hair.

That entire afternoon was glorious bedlam, and once Tom had again found my hand and whispered, “Beautifully done, little one,” against my temple, I found myself centered enough to actually enjoy it.  From the wickedly animated chatter I shared with Jessica and the other Legendary girls over “El Heroe Tacos” and Tamarind margaritas catered in from Puestos to the enormous bear hug from Guillermo that swept me off my feet and took my breath away, everything was as energetic and upbeat and colorful as I had ever imagined.  Tom’s adorably joyful and endearing “I love you all, too,” at the end of the _Crimson Peak_  panel made my stomach flip; Kevin’s inquiry about “Loki’s Pokey Stick” and Tom’s utterly priceless reaction made me laugh until I cried.  After that, he spun me breathless on the dance floor at the party for Zachary’s Nerd HQ before steering me, starry-eyed and slightly tipsy, into the car hired to see us back to the hotel.  I cuddled into his arms in the back seat, dozing the length of the drive with my head resting against his heartbeat, then lost myself in his eyes as he waltzed me sweetly in the elevator, Glenn Miller’s  _Moonlight Serenade_ drifting from the speakers.

I had already stepped out of my sandals and was unclasping my earrings in front of the bureau mirror when he came up behind me, his eyes meeting mine in our reflection.  I smiled and shivered as his fingers found the zipper at the nape of my neck and drew it down slowly; his warm palms flattened against my back as he pushed the material of my dress aside.  “I need to touch you,” he murmured softly into the hair at my crown.

“Good,” I replied, my tremulous voice barely more than a whisper.  “I need you to touch me.”

We continued to hold one another’s gaze as he unhooked my bra and let it fall to the floor in the pool of linen silk around my feet, his fingertips tracing the ridges and dips of my spine until every inch of me was humming with tightly tethered excitement.  “You were perfect today, little one,” his voice was honey and velvet as he lowered his mouth to taste the curve where my neck met my shoulder, tracing the outline of the love bite he’d left earlier with the tip of his tongue.  “Absolutely perfect.”  His arms enfolded me, drawing me back into the heat of his body.  “Sweet and friendly, patient and polite.”  He nuzzled my cheek as his hands cupped my breasts.  “I know you weren’t expecting those questions about the book, but you handled yourself with such grace, such courtesy.”  I shivered in delight as his fingers teased lightly over my nipples.  “I’ve never been so proud of you, so utterly honored to say that you’re mine.”

“Tom…” I leaned into him, feeling my skin flush beneath his praise.

“Michelle,” he murmured in reply, “my good girl.”  Turning me to face him, he caught my neck and used his thumbs to nudge my chin up, my head back.  I nipped at his smile with my teeth, flickered my tongue lightly between his lips, evading a true kiss until we were both giggling and his grip tightened, forcing me still.  I wound my arms around him, rucking up the soft cotton of his t-shirt, slipping my hands underneath to feel the heat smoldering beneath his skin.  As my own blossoming need began to gnaw at the pit of my stomach, I began to trace a fingernail over his back, spelling out naughty suggestions letter by letter until he was full-on laughing in my embrace. “Dirty little minx,” his eyes were twinkling with a playful light when we parted once more.  “Would you like a spanking?”

I know my face lit up like a child’s, and suddenly, all I could think about was the pressure of his muscular thighs against my belly, the strong grip of his fingers around my wrists, and the delicious sting of his broad palm against my ass.  I bit my lip in anticipation as I nodded.  “Yes, Tom… yes, please.”

I stood on tiptoe to press a kiss into the hollow of his throat; his chuckle rumbled under my lips as his hands on my shoulders pulled me gently back.  “Brat.  Come on, over my knee with you…”

I couldn’t keep the excited bounce out of my step as he led me to the bed, sinking down to sit on the edge of the mattress with a calm, rakishly handsome smile.  Unable to keep my hands off him, I stood in the sprawl of his legs, massaging his neck and running my fingers through his hair as he kicked off his shoes, unbuckled his new watch.  I took it from him, placing it on his nightstand before lifting his left hand in both of mine.  I pressed my lips to the platinum band I’d slipped onto his finger myself only nine months earlier before carefully sliding it off and putting it next to his phone.  “My beautiful girl,” he breathed, tugging at my arm.  “Come here.”

I was positively vibrating when he draped me over his lap, and I took a moment to catch my hair and pull it over my shoulder before crossing my wrists at the base of my spine.  “Eager little thing,” he chortled as he closed one strong hand around them, the other smoothing over the slope of my back, the curve of my ass.  “I love you so much, Michelle.”

“Tom,” I giggled quietly, rubbing my cheek against the hard ridge of warm muscle beneath soft material of his trousers, “I love you.”

A quick, painless smack to my backside made me pout my lower lip sullenly.  “I know what you’re doing,” he growled, “and if you’d rather me flip you onto your back and pull myself off while you wiggle and squirm…”

“No no no,” I whinged, kicking my feet in a brief, childlike display.  “I’m sorry, I’ll stop.”

“Mmm hmm,” he snickered, satisfied.  Afew more moments of tender stroking and caressing, and I felt his fingers slip teasingly under the elastic of my panties.  “On or off, love?”

“Mmm,” I shivered, wriggling against the growing hardness jutting into my hip.  “Off.”

A light tug, a muted growl of approval from deep in his throat.  “Ask me, little one.”

My eyes slid shut in excitement, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip.  “Please, Tom,” I buried my blush in his thigh.  “Please pull my panties down.”

“Such a sweet girl…”

I bit back a tiny moan at the delicious sensation of silk sliding lazily over my skin, baring it to the cool dusting of the air and the gentle touch of his hand.  He chafed his palm over each fleshy curve for a few moments, soothing my breathing into a slow, steady pattern, letting me feel his own calm and composed command.  “You remember your word?”

I’ve never yet needed it, but he never forgets.  “I do, Tom,” I nodded obediently.  “Iris.”

“Excellent,” he breathed softly, squeezing my wrists carefully in his grip.  “Let’s begin…”

A brief moment of quiet, and then his first strike landed, quick and sharp, on my right buttock with a brief, delicious crack.  A small yip of pained delight hiccupped out of my throat, only to be punctuated by a matching blow to the left.  Another, another, and then one more.  Light, brisk and playful, nothing at all like the harder, heavier blows I might need to help wrap my mind around a lesson, or to break through the strong and stubborn walls I tended to build around my more convoluted emotions.  Even the feel of his body was different, softer somehow.  Still completely in control, he was more relaxed, more willing to connect to the pleasure he received from the act, to let me feel how much our play aroused him.  Normally so quiet, his deep, steady breaths were leaving him in quiet grunts and low growls of encouragement.  I squirmed against his lap as he delivered another sweet smack, and he chuckled as he tightened his grip on my wrists. “Something the matter, darling?”

“Tom…” I mewled, happy prey to his purring panther.

“I can’t imagine what it could be…”  Another delicious blow, and then another, “we both know you’ve taken tougher turns than this.”

A slap, high and biting, to the back of one thigh, a twin blow to the other, and I pressed them together against the throbbing ache between them.   “Tom… Sir…”

“You’re the most delightful shade of red, my love,” he teased, trailing a fingertip over one tiny weal left in the outline of his hand, “and you’re wearing my mark in more than one spot.  But… that’s not your word I’m hearing, so you can’t be ready to stop quite yet.”

He spanked me again, and again, and I pressed my face into his leg.  “Tom… please… please…”

“Please what, little one?”  The taunting blend of mirth and hunger in his voice and the welcome warmth and sting of his hand on my flesh had my head thrashing from side to side.  “Please… what?”

“Tom!” I pouted desperately, pushing back against his hand, down against his lap, seeking to put pressure to the wet, aching flesh he’d neglected.  “Touch me!  I’m begging you… touch me, please!

“Oh, sweet little bird,” he teased his palm over my hip.  “I am touching you”

_Oh, you BASTARD._ My mind railed at him even as my euphoric giggle bubbled out between my lips.  “I hate you…”

He blanched through a laugh of his own, swatting me again.  “What was that?”

Lost in the playful nature of our exchange, I tossed my hair as I turned my face up to look at him.  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I smarmed.  “I hate you,  _Sir…”_

The comical shock in his expression made me laugh even harder, at least until he resumed spanking me, his blows just a bit more severe than they had been before.  “You wretched little brat,” he laughed, his long legs scissoring across mine to still their kicking.  “You asked for this!”

“I know!”  I wriggled in earnest.  “I thought it was foreplay!”

“It  _is_ foreplay!”  He protested adorably.

“Well, I’m ready for the main event!”

“Well, then  _say so_!”  He bellowed.

“I AM!”  I shrieked.

“SO AM I!”

“THEN JUST FUCK ME ALREADY!”

A heartbeat later I was on my back beneath him, his mouth kissing me breathless as his hands fumbled at his belt, his button and zipper.  “You see?” He rasped, raising up just long enough to push his pants down and my legs wide before sinking into me with a grin.  “All you had to do was ask…”

“Jesus, Tom,” I dragged his shirt over his head and flung it aside before tangling my fingers in his curls.  “Will you for once just shut up?”  He gasped and bit down on my tongue as I pushed it between his lips, but I didn’t mind.  I had, after all, been asking for it.

At long last, his arms circled my waist, my legs tangled through his, and he was where I’d wanted him to be since he’d left me lying in bed that morning.  His kisses were deep and sweeping, his smile bright and beautiful when he released my mouth to let me catch my breath, only to steal it away again with the strong and fluid roll of his hips and grind of his pelvis.  His fingers explored the already fading welts he’d left on my buttocks, he muttered a husky “Brat” in my ear when I clenched around him in response.  We rocked together for a beautiful eternity made of sweat and linen and soft secret whispers of  _yes_ and  _please_  and  _more_  and  _harder_.  He growled my name into my neck, I sang his to ceiling, over… and over… and over.

Finally, when my every muscle was quivering and my voice a faltering flutter, I felt his fingers braid through mine, pulling, drawing my arms over my head and pinning them to the mattress beneath it.  “Do you want it, Michelle?”  His tone was low, full of gravelly need, yet still infused with steely control; it left me shuddering in its wake.

“I do, Tom,” I nodded, suddenly desperate to please him, to be his good little girl, his obedient wife, his perfect, sweet submissive.  “I want it more than anything….”

He smiled, heat and love and praise burning beneath his own craven need.  “Do you need it?”

“Yes, Tom, please,” I could feel the tears prickling behind my lashes.  “I need it… I need you… please… please…”

“That’s it,” he nodded, the tiniest heartbeat of breathlessness the only cue that he was anywhere as close to the precipice as I was.  “Good girl… tell me what you want, Michelle…”

I fixed my eyes on his, knowing an answer without eye contact was, for us, no answer at all.  “Make me come, Tom, please. Please… I want to come for you… I  _need_ to come for you… please, please.  I love you so much, I need you, please make me come…  _please_ …”

I was babbling, and I knew it, but he didn’t seem to mind.  “Sweet girl,” he murmured, brushing his lips over mine.  “Come for me.”

Three simple words, just breath and sound.  And just like that, I was rigid in his arms, my throat locked around an exquisite scream that never fully blossomed, that never really needed to.  His words set the spark to the fuse deep inside me, and the resulting flame ignited the explosion we’d both been chasing since he’d tumbled us into the bed.  We rode the lightning together, his hands gripping mine, his voice spilling into my ear as his orgasm flooded into my core.  “I love you, Michelle.  I love you… I love you… I love you…”

He let me drift in that elusive space behind my brow for longer than he usually would, but it was all right.  A small gift, really, since the marks his hands had left had already vanished from my skin, taking their delightful sting and burn with them.  When I blinked open my eyes, he’d already risen to turn the lights off, set our alarm for the following day, fetched a bottle of water from the fridge, and tucked me into my own little nest of pillows and linen.  He was holding me close, his fingers playing through my hair, and he beamed down at me when I finally roused with a yawn.  “There’s my little one…”

“I’m here,” I cooed happily, snuggling into the space between his shoulder and his chest, kissing the taut muscle just above his nipple.

“Feeling all right?”

I yawned again, nodding, laughing as he waved away the stray hairs that tickled his chin from atop my head.  “Feeling incredible,” I hummed.  “You?”

“Eh,” he shrugged, the arm not wrapped around my shoulders propping up his head.  “Can’t complain.”

“Jerk,” I poked his ribs as his bubbly - if a bit sleepy - “Eheheheheh” flowed over me like warm summer rain.

“I’m wonderful, my love,” he grinned, his chin nudging my forehead until I lifted my face to his.  “Absolutely wonderful.”

“Good,” I craned my neck for what I knew would be our last, lingering kiss before sleep.

“Thank you,” he whispered tenderly against my lips, “for such an amazing, incredible day.”

“You’re welcome.  And thank you,” I smiled up at him shyly, “for such an amazing, incredible life.”

“Oh, my darling,” he pulled me close, kissed me over and over again.

They’re ordinary words, probably spoken a hundred times in a day, probably by a thousand different people.  I don’t care. They can borrow them, use them as needed.  It doesn’t matter.  They’re ours.  Mine and Tom’s.  Always.

“ _Tell me, Michelle…”_

_“I’m yours, Tom… I’m yours.”_


	6. Tipsy Tom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTES: A year of marriage well under their belts, and it’s a cold and dark and stormy English night. But fear not, sweet readers, Tom and Michelle can always find a way to keep each other warm.

The cold December rain was falling in earnest when the car pulled up to the flat, and the driver turned to me with a furrowed brow after easing the sedan into park.  "Can I help you to your door, Mrs. Hiddleston?“

I shook my head with a smile, wrapping my coat snug around me and shouldering my purse.  "Thank you, Daniel, I’ll be fine.”  Tucking the manuscript I’d been reviewing at Doubleday all afternoon into the crook of my arm, I opened the door and charged into the stormy evening with a squeal.  I had just fumbled my key into the front door lock when my cellphone began to trill merrily from the depths of my bag; I was dripping on the small rug in the entry when I finally managed to wrangle it to my ear.  "Hi Handsome.“

"Ooh, little one, you sound breathless,” Tom’s concerned purr made me shiver inside my sweater.  "Are you all right?“

"I’m soaking wet,” I gasped as I peeled open my coat, shivering as the cool air bit at my skin through the thick cable knit.

“Michelle,” my husband’s voice took on a sharp edge, and my knees went weak at the dark warning in his timbre.  "Exactly what are you doing?“

I snorted a brief laugh through my nose. "I’m not playing with myself, Tom, I’m just in from the rain!”

“Oh!” His own bubbly “eheheheh” echoed across the line.  "My poor little love.  It’s barely a drizzle here on Regency…“

"Well it’s coming down in buckets here at home,” I sniffed, hanging my coat on the rack and kicking off my leather boots. “Are you going to be much longer?”

I heard the small hiss of regret ghost through his teeth.  "That’s the thing, love.  Michael had to manage a small disaster with another client, and our business had to take a backseat until just a couple of hours ago.  We were going to move things to The Royal Oak… I don’t suppose you’d like to join..?“

Normally, hearing that Tom was going to be home late would pull my face into a scowl and sour my mood faster than anything else, and I would almost always jump at the chance to minimize our time spent apart. But for some reason, on this particular night, the idea of a few hours alone in the flat we shared while the angry English night stormed outside the windows sounded… heavenly.  "Is it…” I chewed my lip briefly, “all right if I pass this time?  I mean, I’ll come if you want me to, I will.  But I just walked in the door and I look like a drowned gutter rat.  And it’s so cold outside… and the rain…”

He sighed, but I could hear the permissive smile in the sound.  "Of course it’s all right, love.  You get yourself in the tub and have a good soak.  I’ll have dinner brought, just tell me what you’d like…“

I floated through the rest of the phone call full of grins and giggles as Tom took my supper order and gave me a few orders of his own.  I scampered up the stairs and jumped eagerly into a steaming hot bath, dozing lazily to the soundtrack of the storm outside.  I’d been to the salon earlier in the week, and my bare skin was still slick and smooth beneath my soapy fingers.  I dressed in lounging pajamas just long enough to sign for the Chinese food that arrived promptly at nine, then slipped out of the bottoms before sliding under the covers.  I opened my laptop and answered the emails Tom had instructed me to address, ticked out a rough outline for a short editorial requested by Elle UK, then updated our schedules for the upcoming week.  I was almost finished, an egg roll dangling half-eaten from my teeth, when my phone buzzed beside me.

_Michael left his cellular at the office so Noelle was kind enough to bring it by the pub.  She wants me to tell you she sends her love. >:-)_

Noelle was Michael’s executive assistant, and Tom’s self-proclaimed Number One Fan.  I hated her from the tip of her pointed nose to the soles of her knockoff Prada pumps.  And Tom knew it.

_I want you to tell Noelle I said to fuck off and find her own man. Preferably in Siberia.  And that coat is fresh from the dry cleaner so tell her to keep her oily little fingers to herself._

I knew, of course, that he wouldn’t say anything of the sort; in my head I could see him smiling coolly but magnanimously as the snippy little twit cooed and fawned over him.  It drove me crazy, how she always laughed a little too long and a little too loudly at even his dumbest jokes, found imaginary lint and invisible errant hairs as any excuse to touch him, smiled at him in that  _oh-it’s-okay-we-both-know-you’ll-come-to-your-senses-and-ditch-her-for-me-someday_  manner.  I pulled a face until my phone hummed once more.

_Mmmm, sweetheart.  Jealous Michelle is making me hard._

My breath caught a bit in my throat. "Damn you, Hiddleston.”

_Just take a look at Noelle.  God knows she kills my hard-on._

A moment passed, then another.

_Peroni out the nose.  That’ll cost you later._

I giggled at the thought.

_You should know better than to drink and text._

I plucked another egg roll from the carton as I waited.

_Point taken.  I’m still going to spank that sweet ass of yours a nice shade of red in recompense. Finish your chores.  I won’t be too late._

I sighed longingly, the tiniest pang of regret at my decision to stay in twisting in my stomach.

_Yes, Sir.  I’ll be here waiting. I love you._

_I love you, little one. Tell me._

_I’m yours, Tom._

_Such a good girl._

It was just before midnight, and I was tucked into our pillows, three-quarters of my way through The Girl on the Train.  I heard the front door open, the sound of the downpour outside momentarily crescendoing before it closed once more.  I waited for him to call my name, to announce his arrival.  But all I could hear was the rustle of fabric, the clatter of keys hitting the entry table, and then the muted thunder of his slow, deliberate steps on the stairs.  A heartbeat later, the hinges squeaked quietly as he pushed the bedroom door open. “There’s my little one…"I could tell at once from the hooded grin and gravelly growl that he wasn’t that far gone, just a hair or two past the far line of buzzed, and I all but bounced against the mattress in excitement.  

Let me take a moment to explain.  My husband has two personalities when it comes to inebriation: Tipsy Tom and Drunk Tom.  Drunk Tom is sappy and sweet, all sleepy eyes and slurred speech.  And when his – ahem - southern circulation runs a bit on the sluggish side, he can be his own unique, slow-growing brand of entertainment; a delightful treat for my often strained jaw.But Drunk Tom rarely ever wants more than to wax philosophical about the evolution of modern stage production and filmmaking, the character development of whomever his latest project has him set to personify, and of course, how much he loves and adores anyone and everyone sharing his presence before curling up against me to sleep with his cheek on my breast or belly or thigh.  

But Tipsy Tom?  Is always fun.  A LOT of fun. A lot of greedy, grabby, handsy, deep-kissing, hedonistic fun.  And that night, as divine luck would have it, it was Tipsy Tom prowling across my bedroom floor, his damp gingery curls askew over eyes shining impossiblyblue above the dark cerulean jumperclinging to his torso.His cock was straining the front of his well-tailored trousers as he kicked off his shoes, and I couldn’t wait for him to unleash it, in all its glory, upon me.

I stayed stock still underneath the sheets as he prowled closer, giggling at his playfulness as he fisted the linens and dragged them down to the foot of the bed.  "Mmmm, my Michelle,” he licked his lips as his fingers wrapped around me just above my heels, and I shivered in glee as he pressed his lips to the top arch of each foot before pulling me a bit closer.  "Did you miss me, love?“

"Mmm-hmm,” I nodded, every bit his good little girl, biting down on my lip as he kissed the inside of each ankle.  His smile was giddy as he spread my bare legs, crawling over the footboard of the bed to kneel between them.

“I missed you,” he hummed, his lips grazing one knee, his teeth nipping at the other.  "All evening long… Michael on about script creativity input and merchandising percentages and insurance riders…“  I shrieked laughter as he dove down suddenly, his head between my legs, his stubble scraping deliciously against my skin as he danced open-mouthed kisses along the inside of my thigh.  "And all I could think was,” he smirked up at me as I leaned on my elbows, watching him intently, “I wonder how wet my sweet little pussy is… right… this… minute.”  No sooner had the words left his mouth and he was ducking under the hem of my nightshirt, his large hands grabbing at my ass as he buried his face in my warm, willing cunt.

“Oh, God, Tom!” I gasped as he delved his tongue between my folds, tickling and teasing my entrance with tiny, rhythmic thrusts.  He put my thighs up over his shoulders, then reached up over my hips to yank me closer to him.  My body responded before I could think to keep it in check, but he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, when my pelvis thrust up, seeking more of his mouth, he moaned low in carnal approval.  His hands flattened against my stomach, pushing my shirt higher and higher, until I swept it impatiently over my head and hurled it to the floor.

“Mmmm, Michelle,” he hummed, grinding his chin against the apex of my pubis, his fingers plucking curiously at my nipples. “Don’t you just want to fuck?”

“Oh, Tom,” I slurred, seduced, intoxicated. “God, yes…”

His velvety chuckle had a snarling, animalistic edge as he lunged, crawling up to cover my body with his in one sleek, predatory pounce.  His lips were shiny wet with my arousal when they crashed against mine; the taste of my body underscored by the creamy bitterness of the lager that lingered on his tongue made for one hell of a heady combination.  We devoured one another, our kisses sloppy, desperate, and utterly perfect.  His hands were everywhere – one second closed gently but firmly around my throat, the next tangled and tugging in my hair, slipping down to knead impatiently at my breasts, then sliding around to grab the swells of my ass.  Yanking me more fully against him, he let me grind wickedly against his fly until we were both flushed and frustrated.  “Christ, Michelle,” he rumbled, his fingertips digging into me just enough to send delicious twinges of pain sparking up along my spine.  “I’ve been waiting to bury my cock inside you all fucking night long…”

The command was clear; my shaking fingers skittered to the buckle of his belt.  I managed to flip it open, even as his mouth sucked greedily at his spot beneath my ear, but when he thrust into my hand, his impatient, longing groan made me shudder in need and stole all coordination from my suddenly numb digits.   I fumbled stupidly at his button and zipper, mewling in irritation when both refused to cooperate.  “Tom,” I whimpered as he continued to push the heavy heat of his excitement against my palm with smooth, fluid rolls of his hips, “please, Sir, you’re making this so much harder…”

His laughter was rich, vibrating against my neck. “Ohhh, trust me, sweet, it’s about as hard as it can possibly get…”

A terrible pun, but the image of him, purple and leaking and swollen and straining - and trapped behind a cotton wool barrier my hands were too dumb to breach - seemed to do the trick.  I gave the plackets of his pants another desperate tug, and the button finally gave, the zipper parting easily under both our efforts.  His erection sprang eagerly into my hand, already pulled completely free from the opening at the front of his boxer briefs, and I couldn’t suppress an impish giggle as I closed my fingers around him.  Reading my mind, Tom exhaled a chortle of his own before biting down on my earlobe.  “Oh, you like that, do you?” he purred.  “The thought of me so eager to sink into that tight little quim between your legs that I’d no choice but to reach down into my trousers, give my aching cock a tug or two just to keep myself from going mad?”

“Mmm-hmm,” I nodded, my teeth digging so deeply into my lip it’s a wonder the tender skin didn’t split.  

The sound Tom made in response was richly feline, dark and smooth.  “Dirty little girl…”  He pressed me back into the pillows, kissing me hot and hungry until I was dizzy and dazed. Then, sitting back on his heels, he pushed my knees to the mattress, spreading me wide.  Barely bothering to move his pants out of the way, he grasped the base of his cock and slowly slid his grip up, milking a shimmering drop of precum from his length to drip on my wet and waiting flesh.  “Pretty little pet,” he dropped me a cheeky wink. “Let’s play.”

I moaned softly as he pressed the underside of his cock flush with the seam of my lips, the heat of him bleeding into me and making me shiver.  He rolled his hips forward, back, bumping his crown against my clit, rubbing his shaft over and around it until I was bucking and gasping.  My hands fluttered up from the linens, reaching for him, but his devilish grin and the sharp shake of his head sent them flying to the headboard, where my fingers gripped the slats of wood until my knuckles blanched.  “Good girl,” he praised, grinding against me again and again.  His torturous teasing soon had my body weeping silently, and he bathed himself in the fluid so that he could slide against my swelling flesh with slippery ease.  The friction against my clit was almost too much to bear, and I threw my head back, closing my eyes and grinding my teeth in an effort to control myself.

“Oh, no, darling,” he cooed, his fingers moving to carefully pull back the fleshy hood, leaving every bit of the tiny, blushing pearl exposed to his delicious friction.  “No holding back tonight.”  He leaned closer, stealing a soft kiss as his hand and cock continued to work me into a frenzy.  “I want you to come for me, my love, as quick as you can, as hard as you can.”  He sat back once more, stroking me with increased speed and pressure.  “Come for me, Michelle, come for me now.”

I wanted to giggle, to purr how much I liked this game, when the intense sensation of orgasm hit me like a bullet train, pushing the air from my lungs in the shape of his name.  I could hear the slick, wet sounds of his skin sliding over mine as he rutted against me, groaning in lusty approval as my body convulsed at his command. And even though it felt wonderful, when the tightest grip of ecstasy released me, I found myself aching for him all the more.  “Ohhh, please Tom, please,” I mewled invitingly, “fuck me… please…”

His smile was the perfect blend of wolfish pride and pleasure as he clicked his tongue at me, shaking his head in mock chagrin. “Such a greedy little minx you are.” My eyes flew wide as two long, strong fingers thrust into me without hesitation, probing and pulsating against every secret spot he always seemed to find with such ease.  And yet, all I could do was whine poutily as he scrutinized my face.

“Please, Tom… your cock… please?”

“My goodness,” he laughed in earnest, tapping his thumb against my still sensitive clit and making me yelp.  “ _So_ greedy.  But have you forgotten, my love?”  His other hand slipped under my head, his fingers tangling in my hair as he lifted my mouth to his.  His breath was warm against my lips, tasting of lager and lust.  “We play by my rules, yes?”  His sapphire gaze burned through me as I nodded.  “Well, tonight, little bird, I don’t just want you as wet as you can possibly be.’’ He flickered his tongue against the divots left by my teeth in my bottom lip.  “I want you as  _tight_ as you can possibly be.” I choked on the moan that bubbled up from my throat, and he tenderly nuzzled the tip of his nose against mine. “So be a good girl and come for me again, all over my fingers, and maybe then I’ll give this grasping little cunt my cock…”

I don’t know if he planned to say more; all I know is that, when I lunged for him, he met my kiss with every ounce of fiery hunger I felt surging beneath my skin.  Deep, probing sweeps of his tongue, sharp little nips from his teeth, my head yanked this way and that by his grip on my scalp as he sought his favorite angles.  And all the while his touch inside me, brutal, beautiful, driving deep and wringing every sinfully magnificent sensation he could from my clenched and clutching depths.  And when I sang into his ear that I was close, so close, his hand twisted, hooked hard just under my entrance, and the melody he loved so much spilled helplessly from my lips as I gushed unreservedly over his hand, his wrist, and the bed below my hips.

“Oh, yes… there you are… my sweet Michelle… fucking Christ…”

I was still quivering when he finally pushed his pants and boxers down together, just far enough to give him the freedom he needed to take me with one swift, savage thrust.  He swallowed my screams of anguished thanks, then grunted his own lascivious appreciation into my ear.  His teeth sank into my flesh again and again, leaving a trail of lovebites for his tongue to trace and taste and soothe down the line of my neck to my shoulder. I wanted so badly to slide my fingers into his silky hair and grip his head as his lips groped first one nipple, then the other, but the thought of his stopping, even for just a word of correction, kept them curled tightly at the headboard.  I closed my eyes and let sensation wash over me and drag me under- the soft ridges of his sweater rubbing at my belly, the way his waistband chafed the tender flesh inside my thighs, the molten iron rigidity of his cock stretching my taxed inner walls, the damp fire of his mouth on my skin.

On it went, and on, and on; Drunk Tom may take forever to get hard, but Tipsy Tom takes forever to come.  After another toe-curling orgasm with him buried inside me as deeply as he could be, he reached for my wrists, guiding my arms around his neck as he pulled me up and into his lap.  “Ride me, love,” he commanded in a husky, gravelly tone that sent flocks of goosebumps soaring across my body.  I was more than happy to oblige, basking in his long, slow blinks of ecstasy, memorizing the way he would bite his lip then let his jaw hang slack as I moved over and around his throbbing length, arching into his greedy grabbing hands that pulled and stroked and plucked and spanked in ravenous, claiming curiosity.  It wasn’t long before I was cresting again, carried by the wave of his hoarse, hungry praise… “That’s it, Michelle… fucking  _hell_ don’t stop… feels so good… my tight, wet little love…”

I collapsed boneless into his arms when the electric thrill rocketing through me finally subsided, and I knew from his self-satisfied “Eheheheheh” that he knew my energy was waning.  He lowered me carefully onto my stomach, nudging my ass into the air and pulling my hands down between my legs, showing me how he wanted me to hold myself open for him.  He edged me for God only knows how long with his lips and tongue; my voice was hoarse and broken from begging when he finally rose up behind me to sink into me once more.  I closed my eyes and smiled into the bedsheets as his hands wrapped around my thighs, as he pulled me back into every forward thrust of his hips, using me in the ways we both knew I craved.  

My legs were shaking and my breath was coming in desperate little puffs when he draped himself over my back to mouth hungrily at my ear.  His sweater was soaked in his sweat, clinging to our skin as he growled in my ear. “What say, love?  Ready to come with me?”

I wanted to, oh, so desperately.  But balanced on the razor’s edge of over-stimulation and exhaustion, I wasn’t at all certain I’d be able to comply.  “Tom,” I whimpered weakly.  “I-I don’t think I can…”

“Oh, my sweet little sub,” he cooed gently, dusting soft kisses over my ear, my temple, my cheek.  “You can.  You can… and you will.  Won’t you?” He straightened to his full height once more, his hands kneading the fleshy curves of my ass as he thrust a little higher, a little harder.  “Won’t you, Michelle?”

“I… I…”

“Of course you will,” his nails scratched lightly over the soft skin of my hips.  “Because you’re my good girl… my very good girl… aren’t you, love?”

My tongue flickered uselessly over my parched, swollen lips.  “Yes, Sir.”

I could feel the pulsing twitches in his thighs, feel the subtle stutter in his hips and pelvis as he rocked into me with a bit more urgency.  “Yes, love, you are.  My very good girl, my sweet, obedient little toy.”  A quiet sucking sound, and then the wet tip of his thumb began to tease careful circles around the tightly drawn entrance of my ass.  “Are you ready, pet?”

My entire being began to shake in anticipation, and I nodded weakly against the mattress.  “Yes, Tom… yes, please… make me come for you…”

“That’s my girl,” his other hand snaked briefly beneath me, guiding my own fingers to my swollen, slippery flesh.  “You play here…”

“Oh,  _fuck_ … Tom…”

A heartbeat later, he slowly and carefully breached the snug ring of muscle between my buttocks.  “I’ll play here…”

I keened softly as he worked his touch inside me, finding me and fulfilling me in a way no one else ever has.  “Oh, God… Tom… yes… thank you… please, oh God,  _please_ …”

My body tightened around every part of him held inside me, and his breath tore from his lungs in a glorious sob.  “Oh, Jesus  _fuck,_ Michelle… now… come with me now…  _NOW_ …” His hand fisted my hair, pulling my head back, and our mingled cries of tortured consummation echoed through the room to the applause of the thunder outside the window.  The rhythm of his thrusts hiccupped, erratic as he chased his pleasure with harsh, brutal blows of his hips that forced his pulsating cock deep until his pubic bone was grinding against me.  My hands left my dripping folds and I stretched my arms, reaching for and finding the heavy sac between his legs.  He barked in surprised delight as I massaged his testes through his hot, velvety skin, filling me so full I could feel the sticky heat of his release dripping out over my wrists.  The last electric surge bent him double over me, and my own waning climax gave one last delicious hitch as he bit down on my neck, his arms circling me to hold me close as we collapsed against the mattress, a sweaty, sated heap of ragged breathing and trembling limbs.

I was purring contentedly beneath him when his voice slurred apologetically in my ear.  “Shit… Michelle… I’m crushing you, love…”

“No nononono,” I mewled, grabbing at him to keep him from rising up away from me, smiling goofily at his still slightly drunken laughter when he instead shifted onto his side, turning me to face him before sagging boneless into his pillow.  I scooted into his lazy embrace, breathing in the sandalwood of his cologne and the citrus-sweetness of Michael’s Black Cavendish pipe tobacco from the sweat-soaked knit of his jumper before pulling it up and over his head. He stroked my hair as I unbuckled his watch, tugged his slacks and underwear down far enough for him to kick them to the floor, then swept off his socks before scuttling back up to burrow into his damp, heaving chest.

“Fuck, my love,” he rasped as I gazed up at him in rapt adoration, licking the milky white streaks of his come from my skin. “ _That_  was bloody brilliant…”

“It was,” I hummed serenely as the salty-tartness of him tickled its way across my tongue.  “Thank you, Tom,” I sighed, squeaking in delight as he lifted one of my hands to his lips, nipped playfully at my fingertips.  “I love you so much, Sir.  So very, very much.”

His eyes were drooping at the corners, glassy bright with happy fatigue.  “My love… my life… fuck, Michelle,” he rolled me beneath him once more, groping his mouth along my jaw, his stubble scraping fire into my skin.  “I’m so fucking glad you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, Tom” I laughed breathlessly as, face still buried in my neck, he reached down for the discarded bedclothes.  With a flourish and a sleepy growl, he pulled them up over us both, barricading out the light, the chill, and the persistent grumble of the waning storm that refused to subside beyond the windows.  A few more slow, sweet kisses, and he surrendered limply to the pull of the pillows, his arms tight around me as my cheek settled against the warm skin and firm muscle just above his heart.  It only took a moment for our breathing to synchronize, for our pulses to find the tandem cadence that connected us completely as we chased one another down into our dreams.  

And finally, in the warm, sweat-dampened bed, in the cool quiet of the room we shared, in the beautiful balance of the life we’d built together…

“Mine,” he whispered into my hair.

“Yours,” I murmured in reply.


	7. 365 Pages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTES: Two years since they met, a year since they married. Lovely Readers… what can I say? I will never, EVER be able to put into words the love and gratitude I feel for all of you for coming along on this journey with me, with us.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: D/s relationship, graphic sexual content, and lots and lots and lots of romance.

“Mr. and Mrs. Hiddleston, if you’ll just step right this way, we have your table ready…”

One year in, and the sound of those words, those names,  _my name_ , still made me shiver and sigh.  But one year in we were, Tom and I, sneaking into the heart of a prized UK jewel to celebrate the anniversary of our wedding and to allow him one last breath before plunging in to the whirlwind of press that was certain to surround the London premiere of  _Crimson Peak._ I’d been whinging on and off the entire time I’d spent in his hometown about visiting The Levin, even if only to have a fun cocktail at Le Metro, or take in some of the lauded live acoustic music.  So I really shouldn’t have been surprised when, after telling me to pack a toothbrush and a smile, Tom eased the Jag into the lot and strutted proudly to open the door and offer me his hand. Once inside, he swapped our small overnight bag for the key to our suite before ushering me down the stairs to the hostess stand of the basement bistro, his hand deliciously proud and possessive at the small of my back.

I could tell that the tables at the back of the restaurant had been slightly rearranged, several clustered together to create a gap of space between the main group of diners and the single setting for two in the dim, inviting corner.  A champagne bucket was already chilling tableside, and as Tom held my chair for me, the willowy young hostess filled our glasses with a casual flourish. “The Janisson&Fils is an excellent choice, sir, and it’s my pleasure to inform you that Mr. Levin offers it to you and your beautiful bride with his compliments.”

“Oh, nonsense,” Tom crooked his brow in denial, shaking his head.  “That is completely unnecessary…”

The young woman waved her hand in professional, no-nonsense dismissal.  “It’s the least we could do to show our heartfelt appreciation that you would choose to enjoy such a special occasion here with us.”  She turned to me with a bright and genuine smile. “Congratulations, Mrs. Hiddleston, please enjoy your evening.”

I barely had time to thank her before she was gone in a rustle of her sequined skirt, making room for a handsomely starched waiter to glide in behind her and set before us a basket of warm baked bread, a platter of savory cheeses, and a plate of tiny seafood cakes and quiches that made my stomach grumble and my heart slightly nostalgic for my Carolina past. I sat expectantly, my hands in my lap, waiting for the young man to hand us menus and catalogue the evening’s specials. But with a smart tip of his head, he turned on his heel, and I narrowed my eyes at Tom’s devilishly smug grin. “You think you’re quite the shit, don’t you?”

“Well, my love,” he dropped a rakish wink, nudging his knee against mine beneath the tabletop.  “Aren’t I?”

“God knows I didn’t marry you for your modesty,” I giggled as he leaned close, his hand gentle but firm on the back of my neck as he guided my mouth to his for a soft, slow kiss. Our lips were still tangled when the room suddenly echoed with the sweet, spirited voice of Shirley Bassey, and Tom chuckled in amusement as I immediately began to squirm an appreciative little dance in my chair.  He lifted his glass from the table, and I reached for mine as well, blushing at the pride in his expression.  “I love you, little one, and I’m so utterly blessed and thankful you’re mine.”

“I love you, Tom,” I breathed tremulously, “and there is absolutely nothing in this world I’d rather be than yours.”  We touched the delicate crystal rims in a reverent toast, and I wriggled in delight as the crisp, bubbling sweetness fizzled its way down my throat.  “Mmmm, so good…”

It wasn’t long before the Sunday supper crowd was milling about the dining room, the welcome hum of a dozen conversations and warm, pleasant laughter filling the air as we tucked into our appetizers. Several patrons made friendly eye contact, offered little waves or nods.  But if anyone recognized my husband for his celebrity, they gave no sign. And so we were wonderfully undisturbed as we enjoyed the flavors of lobster and crab, the buttery sweetness of the cheese tray, and the ever-flowing tickle of the champagne to underline it all. And as if the fresh, frothy alcohol wasn’t enough to make me shiver in my seat, there were Tom’s fingers, long and strong, teasing their way under the hem of my skirt to flirt along the bare skin of my thighs.  

Our waiter had just cleared our salad plates and Tom was refilling my glass when a quiet coo rose on the wave of chat and banter; my eyes blew wide and excited at the sight of the suit-clad gentleman navigating his way through the sprawl of tables and chairs, the readily recognizable black and white box from Pulbrook and Gould overflowing with roses held fast in his grip.  Tom’s tongue was caught boyishly gleeful between his teeth as the man stopped at my side, bowing politely before placing the arrangement on the table in front of me. “Happy anniversary, Mrs. Hiddleston,” he spoke with a crisp cockney accent, “with joy and esteem from your most loving husband.”  He quirked his head in Tom’s direction.  “I assume this is the lucky bloke here, eh?”

I blushed furiously as Tom’s velvety “Eheheheh” rolled off his tongue, as he offered the man his hand.  “You assume correct, sir, I am the lucky bloke.”

“Yes,  _quite_  the lucky bloke,” the courier repeated, shaking Tom’s hand heartily before reaching for my own.  I met his eyes shyly as he lifted it to his lips, pecking a tiny kiss to my fingers. “You make sure to read the cards there, my dear.  Your chappie picked each and every stem himself, and he’s quite the discerning eye, if I may say.  But, eh,” he leaned a bit closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “you probably already know that, don’t you, beauty?  He did pick you, after all…”

I think I managed to squeak some semblance of thanks before the gent released my hand and, dropping a cute wink at my husband, turned on his heel to take his leave.  Our audience of fellow diners raised a smattering of applause, several of them lifting their glasses and offering cheers.  We smiled and waved before I grabbed the bouquet, pulling it close and burying my nose in the center and breathing deep.  Fifty beautiful long-stemmed buds in anarray of colors: yellow, pink, pale peach and crimson, with twin ivory blossoms at the center. “Tom,” I exhaled in a sigh, “they’re so beautiful!”

“You like?”  He grinned, scooting his chair closer to mine.  “Well, go on, then!  Read the cards like the man said!”  It only took a moment for me to find the five small black and gold embossed cards, each one tied to a rose of a different hue. “Start with the yellow.”

Taking care not to damage the delicate petals, I pulled the card free from the stem and turned it over.  I smiled affectionately at Tom’s looping scrawl, feeling tears prickle the corner of my eyes as I read the words he’d written.

_”My little one – I give you the golden of the sun that breaks each morning across the horizon, the promise of another amazing day I get to spend with you as my wife…”_

“Oh, Tom…” I was reaching to embrace him when he caught my wrists with an impatient chuckle.

“Time for that in a minute,” he chided playfully, plucking the peach-colored blossom from the bunch.  “Now this one!”

I giggled at his excitement, and did as I was told.

_“My little one – I give you the soft hue of your own sweet skin, so that you can see the beauty you wear without effort, so that you can maybe understand my need to touch you wherever… whenever… however…”_

He leaned close to kiss the single tear that slipped down my cheek as I moved on to the card tethered to one perfect pink bud.

_“My little one – I give you the blush that fills your cheeks whenever I tease you just so, be it with the sound of my voice, the promise of my words, the touch of my flesh to yours…”_

That very flush flooded my face as I read the inscription for the crimson rose.

_“My little one – I give you the scarlet that you adore so much, that you wear so beautifully in the shape of my hands, be it from punishment or play…”_

Finally, my trembling fingers plucked the last card from between the two white blossoms in the middle of the bunch, tears trebling my vision as I read.

_”My precious, precocious Michelle – I give you the pure simplicity that is us. You and I, two halves of the same whole. The foundation, the center, the heart of the only thing in the world that truly matters.  Our connection, our bond, our light, our life.  Happy anniversary, darling little one.  I love you more than I ever dreamed possible. Forever yours, Tom.”_

The thin cardboard slipped from my fingers as he at last allowed me to take his face in my hands, to taste the love on his lips as I kissed him again and again.  I suddenly found myself horribly resentful of the meal standing between us and the moment where we would finally be alone behind a closed and locked door, wearing nothing but one another.  As if he could hear my very thoughts, Tom broke his mouth gently from mine, turning my head so that he could growl directly into my ear.  “Don’t worry, my sweet… they’re quite aware that dessert is to be packed up to-go.”

Somehow I managed to survive dinner without completely vibrating out of my skin; it didn’t hurt that the fish and chips and pork escalope were more than delicious.  And even though I was beyond ready to have his hands all over my bodyby the time he’d placed the  _“Privacy Please”_ placard on the knob and locked the door of our private room, it didn’t stop me from digging into our suitcase with the excitement of a child, pulling out the large, flat package I’d picked up from the artisan earlier that week and thrusting it into Tom’s grasp with an insistent, “Open openopen!”

“Steady, sweet girl, steady,” he laughed, shrugging off his blazer and draping it over the back of a nearby chair before pulling me to sit on his lap at the foot of the bed.  “So,” he grinned, plucking the card from the envelope, “what have we here?” I nuzzled into his neck as he read the sentiment I’d agonized over for three solid days, smiling as his arm around me tightened in affectionate appreciation.

_My Amazing Tom,_

_Once upon a time, there was a great big wide universe made up of all the things I wanted: a purple princess playhouse bed, a dress with real fairy wings. A treehouse full of my favorite books, a waterslide, a pony.  A Corvette convertible, a private plane, to be six inches taller, a Pulitzer Prize._

_And then one day I met a man who asked my name, and offered his hand. In that moment, my universe, still vast and full of eternal promise, became very, very small.  And now it is made of the only things I will ever truly need:_

_The endless blue of the kindest and most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen._

_The crinkling curl of the strong, sweet lips that take my breath away and breathe life back into me with their sure, soft kisses._

_The voice that has become the voice in my head that keeps me safe and sane. The voice that guides me out into the adventures of the world, the voice that sings me to sleep when the world becomes too much._

_The hands that touch and tease and thrill, that teach and temper, that hold me when I just can’t hold myself up any longer._

_The heart that has become my home._

_I don’t know why you looked at me.  But you saw me._

_I don’t know why you spoke to me.  But you heard me._

_I didn’t know how lost I was.  But you… my love… you found me._

_I don’t know why you want me, Tom.  But you’re all I want in the world._

_For now, for always, forever…_

_I am yours._

_Undying love and everlasting gratitude,_

_Your little one_

His hand was trembling as he lay the card aside, until he steadied it with a firm, gentle grip in my hair.  “Give me your mouth,” he commanded quietly, and I closed my eyes in ecstasy as I eagerly obeyed.  I had to remind myself not to let his gift go tumbling to the ground as he found his footing by stealing mine, sweeping me off my metaphorical feet in that beautiful balance exchange that made us all the amazing things we were. It was only when one corner pressed indelicately into his stomach that he turned his attention to the simple silver wrapping, and the words I’d scribbled across the top:

_Anniversary One – Paper_

I kept my eyes glued to his face as he peeled back the shining foil, insanely desperate to see the genuine truth in his reaction.  The way his own eyes widened and blinked, the sag in his jaw, the reverent intake of breath told me the simple idea had been more than enough.

The maps were all hand drawn on elegant parchment, the lines of roads and rivers and regions thin scrawls of black and red and blue. In the lower left hand corner, the state of North Carolina, a tiny purple heart covering the city of Belhaven. In the lower right, Tom’s beloved England, a small heart of blue marking his home in London.  In the middle, above them both, the glorious grid of New York City, a heart of red covering the spot that housed the convention center, the few square miles where my life had truly begun.  And in the empty space below, in exquisite calligraphy:

_The truth of the matter is… Tom… I’m yours._

_I have been yours from the moment you took my hand for the very first time._

_I love you, Tom, and I’m yours._

I don’t know whose tears dotted the polished glass first, mine or his, but it really made no difference.  After a moment of tracing a fingertip over and around the borders of the frame, my husband carefully set aside his gift that would soon take up residence above the mantle of the fireplace in our cozy flat across town. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he breathed as he took my face in his hands, “what the hell did I do to become the luckiest bastard walking the Earth?”

I would have tried to answer him, but turns out, he had other plans for my mouth.  His grip tilted my head back on my neck, the gentle pressure of his thumbs at my jaw silently directing me to open to him.  I did, welcoming his tongue against my own with a fluttering mewl that made us both shudder in need.  I shifted against the hard muscle of his thigh, knowing that it wouldn’t be long before the warm, wet evidence of my arousal was soaking through the lace of my panties, the silk of my dress, the linen of his trousers.  He read the cue perfectly, and eased me from his lap to the mattress, his body shifting and turning as he knelt on the floor in front of me.

“My beautiful Michelle…”

He lay his hands on my thighs, easing the hem of my skirt up to bare the landscape above my knee high boots.  He nuzzled the tip of his nose over my skin, dusting tiny kisses here and there as he eased the zipper down the curve of one calf, then the other.  He grinned up at me as he slipped off first one, then the other, tugging at the violet satin bows at the tops of my knit knee-high socks.  “So pretty,” he cooed quietly.  “May I?”  I nodded, my teeth worrying their way into my bottom lip as he smoothed the satiny wool down and off, smiling at the shining cinnamon lacquer on my toes as he tossed them aside.  Wrapping his arms around my now bared legs, he hugged them close, gazing up at me with his chin propped delicately in my lap.  “Michelle, I can smell how ready you are, how much you want me, want  _us_ …”

I nodded again, even though I knew more of an answer was expected.  “Yes, Tom,” I rasped through the hitch in my breathing.  “I’m ready…”

His own breath hissed through his teeth. “Michelle… love… lie back and let me taste you…”

It was effortless to fall back into the embrace of the mattress, to shift my hips obediently as he pushed my dress up and pulled my panties down.  And then his stubble was scraping tiny lines of fire into the secret skin between my legs, and his teeth were leaving their mark, a perfect crown set in the center of my freshly waxed mound.  His tongue tickled its way teasingly between my folds, catching the tiny streams of fluid that dripped from my core as my body rushed to make him welcome.  Slow, sensual, deliberate, unhurried.  In that moment, we had all the time in the world, and all the world was me and Tom.

His palms were warm and wonderful, stroking over my belly, nudging my legs wider and wider as his mouth pressed into me, harder, deeper.  I slid my fingers into the silky curls atop his head as he swirled his tongue around the swelling pearl of my clit, arching against him as he suckled it gently between his lips.  “Oh… God… Tom…” I moaned, “yes… please, yes…”

“Fuck,” he grumbled low in his throat before swiping his tongue between my folds once more.  “Tell me you want to come for me, love.”

“I do, Tom, I do.  I want to come for you…”  Tears of grateful longing pooled in the corner of my eyes, slid down to wet the baby fine hair at my temples.

Another deep probe from his tongue, a tiny nip from his teeth, and I could feel the tips of his fingers firmly tracing the tightly drawn entrance of my cunt.  “Only for me?”

I nodded frantically, feeling the spill of my hair muss and tangle against the mattress beneath my head.  “Only for you, Tom.  Only when you say… how you say… oh, God, please…”

“Jesus…” his mutter was graveled as his touch pushed its way home, slow and strong, his fingers curling up to find that spot inside me that sent black stars exploding across my field of vision.  My body bowed, taut and true, his name dissolving into a shapeless wail of rapture as he ushered me through that first burst of pleasure with a sure and steady hand, and a warm and hungry mouth.  My hands were still in his hair as he crawled up the length of my body, his slid under my buttocks to guide the cradle of my hips to embrace his own.  He tasted of champagne and sex and I devoured every trace of myself from his long, lingering kisses, my fingers plucking persistently at the buttons of his shirt. The crisp blue linen was tossed casually to the floor, the soft plum silk of my dress followed close behind. Tom’s fingers fumbled gracefully at the center of my spine and a moment later we were skin to skin.

Again, there was no rush, no pressing urge to get business done and move on to the next thing.  Touching, tasting, crooning softly to one another, we smiled and laughed and kissed and caressed, spending heartbeat after racing heartbeat simply basking in the gift of being together.  I combed my nails through the small patch of hair on his chest as he traced and teased each of my nipples, massaged the muscles of his neck as his tongue drew playful patterns between the freckles on my skin.  Then, at long last, he rose to his knees to unbuckle his belt and unzip his fly, his eyes never leaving mine as he bared the rest of his body to my touch.  

His cock was full and rigid and ready, standing parallel to his taut stomach, his flushed and throbbing head pushed free from his foreskin and glistening in the dim lamplight.  My hand was trembling ever so slightly as I reached for him; he exhaled a shaky sigh as I closed my fingers around his shaft, his hand covering mine as I squeezed him gently.  I knew what I wanted, what I needed, knew it would please and delight him in equal measure. Still, my cheeks burned with girlish humility as I forced the words from my lips.  “Tom?  Please? May I put you inside me?”

His smile was enormous, and I watched his Adam’s apple bob soundlessly in his throat as he swallowed hard.  “Michelle, my love,” he whispered tremulously, “please…”

We shifted together on the bed until the pillows were behind my shoulders and his body was settled between my legs.  His hands hooked loosely behind my knees as I held and guided him, teasing his head against my weeping seam in the way I knew he loved.  He was positively beaming when I finally nudged him into place, rolling my hips as I pulled him forward.  Our breath left each of us in a quiet hiss as I drew him deeper, and deeper still, until he was seated fully inside me, the curls that dusted his pubis tickling the bare flesh of mine.  For one perfect moment, time stood still as we gazed at one another, drunk on sensation and affection, two halves of the same whole.  Then, slowly, Tom guided my legs around his waist, leaning forward as I accepted his weight against me.

“You know what happens now?” he breathed, nuzzling the tip of his nose against my cheek.

“What happens now?”  I traced a fingertip over the bow of his mouth that quirked in a peaceful grin.

“I spend all night making love to my wife…”

He kept his word, as Tom always keeps his word. He wound me around him like a blanket of warm skin and willing surrender, holding me as if he wanted nothing more than to never let go.  He rolled his body above me until his every muscle quivered, every pore dripped musky sweetness, then moved lazily to his back to allow me to take the reins.  His fingers braided through mine, his strong arms offering me balance and safety as I twisted and writhed over and around him, grinding his throbbing rigidity against every secret sensitive spot that made me whimper and moan and cry out his name in worship.  No teasing, no edging, no demand or denial, no top, no bottom, only he and I, skin and sweat, his love for me and mine for him.  

And when my own body began to tremble with fatigue and fraying restraint, he pushed himself up to catch me in his arms, to seal his lips to mine, to use the last ounces of strength he had to thrust against my core with an urgency that was as beautiful as it was brutal.  Once, again, and once more, and then, face to face, forehead to forehead with eyes wide open, we vaulted into the ecstatic ether as one to hang suspended among the stars before drifting, deliciously weary, back to the linen cocoon that awaited us below.

Our bodies had cooled, our breathing had slowed, our hearts beating in tandem as the clock ticked away the last few moments of our first year as husband and wife.  I was lost in the green and gold haze of his embrace, my head tucked beneath his chin, his palm rubbing gently over my back, and so I very nearly missed the soft whisper that dusted over my cheek.  “I have something for you.”

I couldn’t suppress a lazy giggle.  “Didn’t you just spend hours giving it to me?”

His velvety chuckle rained down over me. “Cheeky brat.”  I groaned in protest as he rolled away from me, his arm reaching for something tucked away in the drawer of the bedside table.  When he turned back, my breath hitched briefly in my throat.  

The soft brown leather cover had been tanned with extraordinary loving care, and the hand-embossed iris emblazoned on the front was my favorite shades of violet and green.  My heart swelled at the hopeful pride etched into his features, and I lay my palm lovingly against his neck.  “Oh… Tom…”

“Happy anniversary, little one,” he kissed my lips tenderly before placing the book in my hands.  “Go on… have a look…”

I flipped open the front cover with reverent care, and almost immediately my vision wavered behind a wall of unshed tears as I read the introductory inscription:

_For Michelle Alannah O’Shea Hiddleston_

_My love, my life, my world, my wife._

_“A Heaven on Earth I’ve won in wooing thee…”_

_Happy Anniversary, Little One_

_From Your Ever Loving, Ever Grateful_

_Tom_

_Year One – Paper_

Turning the page revealed a series of closed plastic sleeves woven into the binding.  And inside each sleeve, the swirling script I would recognize anywhere, even without the oft sought signature; letter after letter after letter.  “Tom,” I passed a shaking hand over the album, “I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Well, of course you don’t, love, you haven’t read any of it yet,” he chortled happily.

“This is true!”  I exclaimed, grabbing the thick comforter and diving into the nest of pillows, wriggling down into their depths and turning my focus to the first page, plain yellow paper torn from thedusty legal tablet that was never far from my parents’ landline telephone.  

_April 3rd, 9:14 am_

_You’re finally asleep.  The battered, bruised look lingers beneath your eyes and there’s still a thread of tension bunching your neck and shoulders.  But you look better than you did sitting on that sterile hospital bench last night, and I daresay you’ll look even better after a few hours rest._

_And, if it’s not arrogance to say, love, you look fantastic wearing nothing but my ring on your finger._

_It was always going to be there, Michelle.  I’ve never had a doubt.  Not from the first moment we spoke on that staircase in New York, not from that first sweet spark I felt when you lay your delicate little hand in my own.  I know you don’t understand it, and I’m afraid I can’t adequately explain it.  But I know we can both have faith in it.  I was meant to find you, Michelle.  I was meant to claim you. I was meant to guide you, protect you, live with you, marry you.  Fate, kismet, serendipity, predestination – pick whichever pretty word makes your writer’s heart the happiest, and I shall do the same:_

_Mine._

_You, my love, are mine._

_I know there are a thousand uncertainties that your heart harbors, doubt-filled voices that whisper to you that you won’t always be enough.  That I’ll somehow live a lesser life, an emptier life, a slighted life for choosing you.  So I say this to you now, my love, and I will say it to you every single day – I have no choice.  You are my life, Michelle._

_Because as much as you are mine, I am yours…_

“Tom…”  The word came out a broken, grateful sob, and he bundled down next to me, pulling me against him as my tears began to flow freely.  “Tom…”

“Shhhh, darling, shhhh,” he soothed me tenderly, stroking his hand over my hair.  “No need for tears.”

I swiped a hand over my dripping cheeks as he pressed a kiss to my forehead.  “It’s just so breathtaking.  I just…” I turned my face to his, my expression full of bewildered awe.  “I can’t believe you saved it so long.”

“Eheheheh…” his grin widened in self-satisfaction, “turn the page, love.”

A thrill of anticipation twisted through the pit of my stomach, and I did as he instructed.  In the second sleeve, a piece of his own personal pale blue stationary, the handsome TWH printed in russet block letters at the top.

_October 3rd, 10:27 pm_

_Dear Jack –_

_In less than twenty-four hours, I will stand in my mother’s garden, and I will wait for your little miracle to join me, to stand at my side.  I will take her hands in mine.  And I will make the promise to her that I made to you when you granted me permission to take your little miracle and make her my own._

_I will forever love, forever cherish, forever honor, and forever protect this brave and beautiful woman you and your sweet Ruthie brought into the world. I will forever honor her roots.  I will never stop helping her find her wings. I will only stand above her when she needs me to pull her up.  I will always stand below her to catch her should she fall.  I will always stand beside her, so very, very proud._

_I will never leave her alone._

_She is the miracle of my life, Jack, as much as she was ever yours, I will live each and every day with her ever mindful of that.  I will make you as proud as she makes me, I promise you. And I will make her proud as well._

_We miss you, Dad.  We’ll save you and your beautiful Ruth a seat._

_Love,_

_Tom_

I’d given up any pretense at self-control; I was hiccupping sniffles into my palm while Tom rocked me gently as I turned the page.  The next was a copy of our wedding invitation, and in his looping scrawl at the bottom, words I already knew by heart.

_I’ve crossed an ocean of time from our last kiss until now, and still a mountain of stairs between us…_

Another page turn, and my cheeks flushed as I traced a fingertip over the printed confirmation for our private booth at the Ministry of Sound.

_I thought my biggest thrill at the club would be when I slid my palm up the inside of your thigh, touching you in so intimate a manner in so public a place. To feel your soft skin, so warm and damp.  But oh, little one, how wrong I was.  To see you pushed to the brink of sensual madness, to feel the desperate tug and drag of your hands… Jesus, Michelle, I thought I’d come out of my skin…_

Page after page, the most touching and unexpected walk down memory lane I could have been given.  A note jotted on our flight itinerary from Heathrow to Mahé, another on the envelope that held the keys to our private villa.  A lengthy and earnestly adoring response to A Pastiche Heart that he’d written on a blank page from the back of my manuscript, sitting at the kitchen table at four in the morning while I lay dreaming of him in our honeymoon bed.  Short, sweet musings, train-of-thought messages, all sang from the pages in his proper British tone, all peppered with loving and sincere endearments that made me smile and sob in equal measure.

On the lovely sand-hued stationary left for us by the Seychelles host staff:

_My dearest Michelle…_

_Any moment now, the sun is going to be peeking over our little slice of the Praslin shore.  It’ll spill across the water, setting fire to the waves, and creep in through our window to caress you where you lay in our bed.  It’ll tickle your polished toes peeking out from under the sheet, it’ll warm the luscious curve of your hip (and that lovely purple bruise in the shape of my mouth), it’ll seek your beautiful face hidden under the gorgeous mess of your hair._

_It won’t take long for the bright morning brilliance to rouse you, blinking and yawning, into this, our last day on this breathtaking island where we’ve chosen to begin our life together.  You’ll roll onto your back, rubbing adorably at your eyes, arching in a luxurious stretch. Perhaps the sheets will fall away from your body, baring your naked skin to my sight, perhaps not. It doesn’t matter. Because once your eyes have lost the hazy blur of sleep, once your mind is awake and aware, I’ll set aside this pen and paper, I’ll push myself up from this chair, and I’ll watch you smile and shiver as I return to your side.  You’ll lie back against your pillow, you’ll open your arms, you’ll spread your legs._

_And as I have with every touch of my hand since that chilly autumn evening in New York, I will claim you as mine._

_You are mine, Michelle, the greatest gift of love that I could ever have hoped to find.  From the crown of your head to the tip of your toes and every scrumptious inch in between, every breath you draw, every beat of your heart.  Every smile, every giggle, every sigh, every tear.  Every time you trust the wisdom of my direction, every time you accept the discipline of my hand, every time you seek the shelter of my arms, every time you lose yourself in the reassurance of my kiss and revel in the thrill of my cock.  Every time you charge into the day with the determination of “I can”. Every time you replace the worry of “I can’t” with the resolve of “I can try.”_

_Every time you tell me…_

_Soon you’ll wake, and I’ll come to you.  We’ll wind ourselves in one another one last time in that soft, sweet bed. We’ll sneak one last naked swim in the warm waves splashing just beyond the door.   I’ll fill you, fuck you, make you squeal and scream and shudder in my arms._

_The car will come at three, and by that time tomorrow, we’ll stumble worn and weary through the front door of the house that was never truly my home until you came to share it with me.  You’ll wear such a pretty pout at the thought that our secret getaway is over._

_But me?  I’ll only be able to smile at the pride I feel knowing that, beyond escape, beyond fantasy, you are my reality.  My love, my life, my bride, my wife._

_Good morning, little one._

_Here comes the sun._

_Forever yours,_

_Tom_

I giggled through my tears at the memory of that morning, how I’d awoken just as he’d described, sitting up blinking in the dazzling sun-kissed suite, looking for my husband who was nowhere to be seen. How his curls had appeared at the foot of the bed, proud English brow and impish blue eyes peeking over the linen landscape.  How I’d squealed like a child when he tossed the sheets over his head before crawling up from the floor to join me, teasing and tickling every inch of me until I was breathless with laughter beneath him.

I was turning to the next page when he fidgeted beside me, burying the tip of his nose in my hair.  “Do you like it, little one?”

“Oh, Tom,” I sighed happily, reading the thoughts he’d scribbled on the back of my packing list for our Seychelles and Louisiana trips while I’d slept heavily beside him, “I am over the moon  _inlove_  with it.”  Next came the torn page from a SkyMall catalogue, where he chronicled his delight at my descent from trained journalist and wife of a British scholarly performer into Carolina honey as I chatted with the air hostess from Charleston who’d attended us so sweetly during our flight to Shreveport.  After that, a page of sheet music with pieces of Rodney’s handwritten arrangement of “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry” and Tom’s musings about a Michigan evening spent in the back of a battered old Ford.

I was wiping my tears after finishing the letter of lonely longing he’d scribbled on a sturdy paper napkin from a quiet coffee shop on Southfield Roadafter I’d left the states to return to the business of my own European publicity when he nuzzled me once more, his lips glancing softly against my ear.  “Sweet little love,” he nibbled sleepily at my earlobe, “aren’t you getting tired?”

“Mmmm,” I hummed absently as I smiled down at the words scribbled around a page of the Shreveport Times where he and Marc and Elizabeth smiled up from the lower left corner.

He chuckled into my shoulder, tightened his arm a bit around my waist.  “Come on, darling.  Lie back… sleep with me…”

“Um, okay, yeah,” I nodded, distracted, turning the page.  “In a bit, okay?”

“Michelle,” he laughed, “you know you don’t have to read them all tonight.”

“I know,” I turned my head, resting my chin coyly on my shoulder as he dusted his lips over my forehead.  “And you didn’t have to devour A Pastiche Heart in one marathon sitting,” I sniffed pertly. “But you did, right in the middle of our honeymoon.”

His expression pinched with apologetic regret.  “I did, didn’t I?”  He sighed heavily as I nodded before leaning in for a proper kiss. “Well then, I guess there’s nothing else for me to do but leave you to it.”

“Actually,” I quirked my head towards the mini-fridge that held the elegantly wrapped boxes we’d brought back from dinner, the chocolate torte and blackberry cheesecake and apple sorbet Tom had chosen for dessert. “You could always fix me a snack.”

I bit down on my lip as his right eyebrow raised in surprised and amused affront, and while he didn’t say a word, the smoky spark in his cerulean eyes and the light but firm tug he gave my hair before slipping agreeably from the bed assured me that my sass would not be forgotten.  I shivered at the thought of the discipline I’d just bought myself, and watching his long, lean, and powerful body move unashamedly naked through the suite sent a twinge of sharp longing twisting through my core.  But by the time he’d slipped back beneath the sheets, a sampler plate of our goodies in his hands, I was engrossed in his final words before embarking home from the  _I Saw the Light_ shoot once more. Shaking his head and kissing my cheek, he settled into his pillow with a sigh, one large hand curled possessively around my thigh.

A new page, plain white paper from the printer on his desk:

_Damn your icy little feet.  I could have had at least another hour.  Let’s not forget to draw the curtain ‘round the bed before sleep anymore, eh?_

_My beautiful girl.  If not for that chaotic spill of auburn across my pillow, I’d have to wonder if you were still there under all those blankets._

_The coffee is strong this morning, hot; those dark, fresh beans from Seattle you love so much.  I wonder if the aroma will be what wakes you.  I’m betting not.  If I had to lay money, it would be on the soft, clicking hisses of the snowflakes outside pattering against the window.  The first snow of the season, my love, your favorite._

_I’ve always believed the truest example of the cold and silent magic of the snow was the way it transforms London from a grey and busy, bustling hub of noise and hurry to a sleepy, dreamy place blanketed in the most pure and beautiful shade of glistening white.  You’ll have to forgive me such foolishness, little one, for I now know its greatest effect is the beauty it brings out in one whom I thought couldn’t be any more beautiful.  The way your warm, mocha eyes sparkle with innocent and childlike joy.  The way your cheeks flush with an excitement so simple, so pure, but in no way diminished.  The way you lift your face to catch the icy crystals on your eyelashes and tongue as they fall from the sky above, then bundle the tip of your frigid little nose into the lapels of my coat for respite from the wind._

_How I love to lose myself in you, my lovely little snow angel.  Your plump, perfect lips peeking out from above your thick knit scarves, their gloss promising sweet chocolate-mint kisses. Your nipples taut against your snug, soft sweaters, pebbled from the chill, silently enticing me to warm them with my tongue.  The curve of your body, the soft, secret place between your legs that always radiates its own alluring heat, no matter how far the mercury drops.  And your delicate little hands, darling, when you come in from the cold, your strong little fingers carrying the chill of the air as you reach for my cock…_

_The snow is lovely, sweet girl.  But you?  You make it breathtaking.  And I could, and would happily live a thousand such snowy days so long as I have you to warm my bed, my home, and as always, my heart._

_A yawn, and a sigh, soft as the coo of a dove.  My little bird is waking._

_Welcome winter.  Stay a spell._

_Love,_

_Tom_

He was fast asleep by the time I’d read my way through January, and the beginning of February, his letters infused with the hearty and lusty spirit he carried through the physical prep he’d needed to become the specimen that was Jonathan Pine.  So I was already tingling from head to toe when the flip of a page revealed an exquisite picture I knew he had taken and developed himself.  I didn’t think I would find myself at ease at all being photographed nude, bound.  But the book on Shibari and the blood red rope had been my gift to him at Christmas, and his expression was just so compelling – a combination of arousal and plea and command and reassurance – saying yes to the suggestion was almost effortless.  And gazing down at the image, our bedroom and my body cast in black and white making the vermillion pop from the portrait like a beating heart, I couldn’t help but smile. I traced my fingertip over the line of my form, kneeling in the center of our bed with my head hanging down, admiring the rope and the reverently careful way Tom had braided my hair into the knots.  And sure enough, when I turned the page, his handwriting looped across the back.

_A Love Letter from a Dom to His Sub_

_My precious, precocious little one.  What a work of art you are.  Every curve a line inviting me to follow my greatest pleasure, every plane a playground for me to exhaust my most secret whims.  Every inch of your skin a living canvas that pleads for my touch, proudly wears my marks, only to swallow them down to offer me a clear, fresh palette to paint upon, an entirely new portrait of endurance and ecstasy every time.  I can leave your lips parched and swollen and still groping with thirst.  Sketch violet blossoms of kisses on your neck, your throat, your shoulders, your back. Sculpt your flushed and hardened nipples, so bruised and battered, yet begging for more.  Leave your bottom blushing with my handprints.  You wear my work like a badge of honor, you display my ownership with your head high, so full of pride.  You take each bite, each lash, each spank and strike with humility and gratitude, as if there were no greater gift a woman could receive from the man she loves, who loves her beyond all else._

_But today, my darling, let me give you something just as precious, maybe even more.  Today, little one, let me give you peace.Not the peace that comes from an exhausted body and a sensation-drunk mind.  Nor the peace that comes when the pain begins to ebb, and the pleasure unlocks its iron-hard grip.  Not even the peace that comes from that deep and dreamless sleep that pulls you under and gives you rest._

_Today, little one, let me give you the peace that comes with being coveted and owned, prized and protected, shepherded and safe._

_How you trembled when I stroked the rope against your cheek.  How you bit your lip and furrowed your brow when you saw your dear old friend on the nightstand, loaded with film and a fresh flashbulb.  How you squared your shoulders and bore my gaze, met my eye and whispered, “Yes, Tom” as I reached for the buttons on your blouse.  How proud I was when you held yourself still as I bared your body, touching you and teasing you until your blood raced beneath your skin, every cell awake and alive and awaiting my command.  How grateful I was for the tears that pooled in your eyes and slipped down your cheeks as I placed your hands behind your back, nudged your legs apart. They are forever the surest sign that those walls within you are coming down, and letting the light shine warm and bright on who you truly are._

_What a privilege to be trusted as you trust me.  My heart has never pounded quite so hard as it did when you held your head high while I slipped the satin cord around you, up over your shoulders, above and beneath your breasts.  I was awestruck, my love, watching you shift and arch with wordless consent as I bound your wrists, your arms, as I twisted that thick spill of your beautiful hair into the webbing that would hold you fast.  You were panting ever so slightly as I led you to the bed, guided you to your knees so I could bind each ankle to your clasped wrists.  And yet, such clarity in your eyes, such certainty._

_I would gladly have fallen on my knees before you, little one.  So worthy of worship you are._

_I know you thought, after I’d captured the frames I desired, when I lay you gently on your side and bid you close your eyes, that I’d quickly move to plough and plunder, to take you, to fuck you - your warm, willing mouth, your wet, waiting cunt, your tight and tempting ass.  I know you were not expecting me to set the Nikon aside, to cross to the chair in the corner, to settle in, to watch.  I know those first moments were difficult; even without the slight hiccups in your breathing, the fidgeting of your clasped little fingers, I would have known.  The tension radiated from you in waves, in time with the trembling of your plump lower lip, the trickle of tears that continued to leak from your eyes._

Another page, another photograph, another pose. My knees tucked beneath me, my legs spread just enough, my forehead resting on the mattress.  And on the back, his prose continued.

_Ever so slowly, I watched the taut curve of your shoulders begin to soften, saw your strong little teeth release the worried flesh of your lip.  I could hear the whisper of your breathing as it slowed, deepened, and I could smell the sweet muskiness of you as the last of your anxiety gave way to blissful relaxation.  And as I watched you take those first steps into your first self-induced subspace, I knew, my love.  Knew that you accepted the gift and that, at least on some level, you understood._

_I am in control, little one.  But the power lies within you.  In that brilliant brain between your ears.  In those delicate little hands that go slack in surrender.  In that sassy little work-in-progress mouth of yours. In that brave and beautiful heart that beats within the cage of your chest._

_I am in control.  But the power is all yours._

_You can level me with a look, little one, with a flip of your hair or a curl of your lip.  You can run your life as efficiently as any three people I know, and you can build protective walls of iron and thorns around that sweet and supplicant spirit that resides in the deepest, truest part of who you are.  That you let me in, that you let me learn, that you let me lead, that is where I find my peace and my purpose, my duty and my honor._

_I carry every mark I leave on your body beneath my own skin.  I cherish every whimper, every moan, every cry, every purr.  You give yourself to me so utterly, so completely, and I simply cannot imagine not working every single day to be the man - the only man - worthy of such a treasure._

_Your peace is my aspiration.  Your pleasure is my honor. Your safety is my charge. Your submission is my success, my salvation._

_Happy Valentine’s Day, my darling little one._

_Your Proud and Honored Dom_

The page was streaked with my fallen tears by the time I’d finished, and sniffling softly, I wiped them away with the palm of my hand before setting the book aside and turning my attention to its author. His face was smooth and angelic as he slept beside me, his breathing hypnotically deep and even.  “Oh, Sir,” I whispered reverently, leaning over to press a kiss to one well-muscled shoulder.  He stirred just a bit, his lips curling at the corners, his hand tightening ever so slightly on my leg.  I lifted it gently in my own, kissing it as well before resting it on his pillow and slipping carefully from the bed.

One long, hard stretch and a call of nature later, I pulled the comforter around me from where we’d kicked it aside after tumbling into bed.  I picked up the book and padded into the sitting room, curling myself into the corner of the sofa with my feet tucked under me.  I lost myself again in the wonder of the project he’d undertaken, the beautiful simplicity of how he’d pulled it off: notes scribbled on torn envelopes containing negotiations from the BBC, a hand drawn postcard from Mallorca, on the back of a photo of him and Hugh staring each other down over a plate holding one, solitary roasted potato.  A letter from Luke detailing the specifics of our Swiss weekend getaway with Tom’s affectionate musings on the other side.  And then I found myself smiling with a trembling lip as I gazed down upon Pooh and Piglet, hand in hand, a page from a worn children’s storybook.

_March 17, 2:10 pm_

_Very little time, yet so much love to express._

_In Ireland, they say if you capture a leprechaun, you’ve won the right to have him grant you your fondest wish._

_I don’t need a leprechaun, my love.  You are my fondest wish, and you are mine eternal.  You’re nothing I ever expected, and you’re everything I’ve ever wanted._

_“How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard…”_

A few pages later, a piece of my own stationary. I remembered scribbling the little doodle as I sat and chatted idly on the phone with Emma: a landscape of soft grass and proud blossoming tulips, and a little wicker basket overflowing with decorated eggs.  Tom had been gone for weeks wrapping up production of  _The Night Manager_ and I was knee deep in a fun and fluffy project for  _Cosmopolitan._ He’d flown all night to surprise me…

_April 5, 5:19 am_

_I love you, little one, and I love your fondness of sleeping with the windows open when you’re feeling particularly far away from me, but bleeding Christ, IT’S FREEZING IN HERE!  I hesitated throwing another blanket over you for fear you’d suffocate under yet another layer, but I can still hear you snoring softly away somewhere in there. I figure I’ll give the oven a few more minutes to do its job, but if the smell of the Vivel pastries don’t rouse you, I guess I’ll have to crawl inside that curtain and do it myself…_

_You’ve no idea, Michelle, how much nicer it is to come home now that you are here waiting for me.  Even if you’re asleep when I arrive, even if you’re out… you’re here.  Your coats on the rack, your boots in the closet, your pictures mingled with mine, the scent of your hair and your skin drifting in the air.  And even when you’ve opened the place to the chill of the snow or the wind or the musical damp of the rain, there’s a warmth within these walls that simply wasn’t here before.  It radiates from the blanket and novel you left curled on the sofa before climbing the stairs to bed, from the dozing laptop and pages of handwritten scribble beside it, from the line of sweet and sexy underthings hanging from the cord that now runs the length of the laundry room, to the bottles of purple and pink tucked among mine of brown and black in the bathroom._

_My world is bigger, brighter, more beautiful for having you in it._

_How I wish I could stay for more than the two days I managed to scrounge. How I wish I could take you with me when I have to go again.  How I miss you when I’m gone.  How pleased I am when I look around our home, our life, and see how well you’ve managed while you’re missing me._

_Do you know that I truly do understand what your missing me means?_

_I know you love our life, Michelle.  I know that you are finding yourself within it, and through that, finding a happiness people search for, day after day, year after year, and never discover.  I know sometimes you struggle, I know sometimes you worry, but you’re so brave and strong, and you do so well._

_And then I ask you to let me go, time and time again.  I take my leave, and you must go back to managing your days with no one physically by your side.  No shoulder to lean on, no ear to whisper into, no arms to encircle you and close out the world at the end of the day.  Those are the days you make me the most proud, little one.  It is one thing to face the challenges in front of you when I’m here to hold your hand, but to rise and conquer the way you do when I’m gone, and all I can do is hold your heart?  You leave me awestruck, Michelle.  You’re my hero._

_Such a wonderful little drawing; it really made me smile.  No little rabbits this year, just a basket full of lovely little eggs.  What a perfect symbol of Easter, of spring, of promise and renewal._

_I see you in this picture, my love.  Oh, do I see you…_

Tom stirred quietly beneath the sheets as I continued to turn the pages, reliving the excitement of the early summer, recalling the dance we shared in the bathroom before embarking on our day at Wimbledon, giggling girlishly at the joy-filled memories of Comic Con.  And then came the letters of August, so many with him in one country and me in another, and I swallowed hard at the date scrawled across the Ritz Carlton letterhead.  The day I screwed up the time difference and overslept, missing my conference call with the editors of Vanity Fair as a result.  The day I found myself splashing across the bathroom floor through water from the toilet that was overflowing for no apparent reason. The day of the cracked cellphone screen and the expired credit card at the market register, full basket of groceries in tow.  The day that was equally exhausting, trying, and disappointing for him.  The day that our end of day call ended not with a sweet and sweaty bang but the worn but willful whimper of my hanging up on him mid-sentence.  All in all, a day I would rather forget.

_I fucking hate it when we fight._

_I am sorry you had such a horrendous day, you have to know that.  I feel terrible that I wasn’t there to help you manage it while it was happening, and I feel bloody fucking awful that I’m not there to hold you now that it’s over.  And I never meant to put you on the defensive with my tone, but fucking Christ, Michelle, I’m allowed to have moments of weakness as well.  And maybe my bad day could be rationalized as more tolerable than yours, but at least you had the privacy to spit and sputter and pull faces and roll your eyes and curse and slam doors - don’t bother lying, we both know you did, and I’ll tell you again, if you unhinge the door to the closet once more, YOU WILL FIX IT YOURSELF.  I had to swallow my irritation and frustration and smile pretty for the cameras and please-and-thank-you my way through the afternoon, answer the same questions over and over with this reporter acting like I’m some over-eager, dim-witted twat only for the next to look at me like I’m some smarmy elitist Brit shithead too full of himself to live.  And no, I’m not on my own; yes, I’m doing all of this with people I consider friends.  But how can you not fucking know that when we’re apart I feel just as alone as you do?_

_And that crack about the beautiful women hanging all over me was nothing more than self-pitying bullshit borne of yourridiculous lingering insecurity, and it was dirty pool.  I spend so much time not only telling you that you’re my love, my life, my fucking heart, but SHOWING you… it was a button to push.  You knew it when you were doing it, and you know it now.  If I may be so bold as to quote you to you, “bitch move, Hiddleston.” If I’m to play fair and accept that those feelings are real and worthy of consideration and discussion and not entirely your fault, then you have to play fair and ask for help dealing with them in a calm and mature, non-castrating manner._

_Jesus fucking Christ, I miss you._

_Don’t smirk.  If you were here or I there, I’d grab you by your pretty hair and bend you over the nearest flat surface before taking my belt to your tender little ass, reminding you with every lash that, thanks to your cunningly quick and wickedly sharp tongue, your delicious and delightful orgasms would be off the menu until you could once again sit comfortably._

_I am not perfect, little one, and I know you aren’t either.  I know that our relationship isn’t perfect, and that it’s unreasonable for me to expect it to be so.  But fuck, Michelle, sometimes we come so fucking close…_

_I’m sorry you had a terrible day, my love.  I’m sorry I had one as well.  I’m sorry exhaustion and loneliness led us both to make some poor choices in our care of one another.  I’m sorry that it’s easy to forget that when I travel like this, there are many people around me to watch my back and lend a hand while my shoulder that you lean on is miles away from where you need it to be.  I’m sorry I wasn’t what you needed me to be tonight, and I promise to make it up to you somehow._

_Make no mistake, Michelle, there will be discussion, and consequences. Exhaustion and loneliness may explain your quick temper and baiting words, but they in no way excuse them. And it’s forever been a rule between us, for both of us – one hanging up on the other is simply not acceptable.  But I know you’ll make it up to me somehow._

_Sixteen more days, beautiful girl.  Breathe with me, and know that I love you._

_Your Tom_

The next, dated two days later, scribbled on the back of a Chinese take-out menu.

_Clever little one of mine.  The cigars and the Connemara 12 are absolutely brilliant – I wish you could have seen the blokes’ enthusiasm at the sight.  Luke delivered them just as panels broke for the day, and made certain full credit was given to you.  Thank God you and I are one forever, Michelle, because I daresay if we split, custody of our dear Mr. Windsor would likely fall exclusively to you._

_What a welcome change from banquet meals with industry elite.  G spoke of you incessantly, and demands that we make time before the premiere in London for him to bring Lorenza for a visit. She’s apparently finished your book and is bursting with questions…_

I smiled silently to myself, shaking my head as I remembered how my peace offering had not, in fact, softened his resolve to address my misbehavior.  After a long and tearful conversation the evening of his homecoming, he did indeed bend me over the kitchen table, my belt cinched around my mouth as a gag (“Remember this, Michelle, the next time you’re considering hanging up on me: if you’re done talking, I’ll make certain you’re done talking…”) while his meted out three days’ worth of squirming in my seat with a sore backside and an achingly unfulfilled cunt.  It was hard to be resentful, though, when I knew the abstinence was just as much a punishment he inflicted on himself for his part in the argument.  And after all, it was he who noticed first when I sat down flush in my chair at the dinner table without a flinch or a wince; I’ll always remember the naughty excitement that lit up his features as he crooked a beckoning finger, unzipping his fly and pushing my panties aside before bending me over the table once more.

I’d organized myself well enough to join him for all of his press and premier obligations for the month of September, and so I was giddily surprised by the number of notes he’d been able to complete without my knowing.  

Scribbled in the margins of a panel itinerary from Toronto:  _I’m supposed to be fielding questions about Robert Laing’s descent into debauchery and all I can think about is that first spanking you asked for, in a lovely little apartment only a few miles from here…_

Written on the back of a photo of me and Jessica, standing close, giggling into each other’s ears: _What a lovely little girl-crush the two of you have going, love. Pity I’m a greedy cock who simply refuses to share his favorite toy.  Still, Michelle, it’s so amazing to watch you interact with people you admire and respect.  Your affection for people lights them up, darling, it truly does…_

And on the back of the express check out receipt from our hotel in New York, after an exhausting impromptu training session on orgasm control ended with my body sweaty and sated but my mind a tangle of disappointed knots:

_Jesus, Michelle, the tension you’re carrying in every muscle of your body today… it tells me a long conversation is in order, my love; I’m never pleased when you’re harder on yourself than I am on you.  It was glorious watching you come completely undone last night, your hair clinging to your face in shining, sweat-soaked strands, your breasts heaving with every ragged breath, the little buds of your nipples so swollen and hard and blushing from my attention.  The way you flooded all over me when you couldn’t hold the dam within you closed any longer, so beautiful, my wet little love.  And to have held off so long – I’d been teasing you all day, we’d been fucking for nearly two hours.  No, you didn’t succeed in waiting for permission, but Michelle, you were far from a failure._

_You’ve come so far, my brave little bird, and you try so hard for me. Don’t you know that I see that, so very clearly?  How you struggle and strain and set that stubborn little chin.  How you push yourself and push yourself, harder and harder every time. And how you do every single bit of it simply because the thought of pleasing me pleases you._

_You please me, little one; dear God, how you please me.  In your work, in our play, in the way you see yourself, in the way you are trying so hard to love yourself as I do.  Every word you write, every lesson you listen to and learn. Every night you spend in my arms, every night you spend alone.   Every ounce of effort you exert, every drop of sweat, and every tremble of muscle. You please me, Michelle, so very, very much…_

On and on I read, giggling and sniffling in turn, until I found myself squinting, and blanched a little to realize the first shafts of the morning sun were beginning to peek through the crack of the drapes. My mouth stretched in an impressive yawn, and I pressed my hands to the small of my back, arching my spine and relishing the crackle.  And after a glance over my shoulder assured my husband was still deeply asleep, I turned the page, realizing with a grin that I had finally reached Tom’s last letter to me, written less than forty-eight hours prior.

_October 3, 11:26 pm_

_You’re finally asleep, and I should be relieved.  The house is finally quiet, no more animated chatter, no more incessant questions about what my plans are, where we’ll be going, what we’ll be doing. Your dress is hanging from your valet, the knit knee socks you chose for under your boots draped over the shoulder; it all looks oddly, perfectly right.  The reservations are confirmed, the tabs all settled, and here I am composing this last little chapter of a project I started over a year ago.  I should be satisfied, having such quiet calm in which to do such personally important work._

_But in truth, I already miss my perfect little storm, my tempest in a teacup._

_I always believed I’d find love and happiness if I just kept my eyes open, my mind open, my heart open, kept working hard and staying true to the man I wanted to be.  I wasn’t certain I’d ever want to get married – only children of divorce can truly understand how so permanent a thing such as marriage can still be so tenuous – but I always believed that, if that were the case, my lady would be just as comfortable with the notion of eternity without matrimony as I was._

_And then the toss of a braid on a New York City sidewalk caught my eye and changed my life._

_“I knew from the moment I saw you an adventure was about to happen.”_

_Michelle, I wanted you from the moment I met you.  I was falling in love with you the first time I kissed you, and I was long past gone the moment I awoke with you in my arms.  I knew I was going to marry you the day I let you get on that plane to fly back to Belhaven, and I bought you your ring before I ever left Manhattan.  It doesn’t make any sense, and it makes all the sense in the world.  It was dangerous, a risk, but I gambled, and I won. Jesus fucking Christ, how I won. Perhaps it was fate, written in the stars, maybe I just got really fucking lucky.  It doesn’t really matter._

_You are mine, and I am yours._

_You spent the better part of a year writing me a love story.  Opening your heart and your mind just as willingly as you gave me your body.  You let me see you, every fear, every flaw. You ran from me, but I always knew there was a chance you would.  I also knew that I would find you again, and that you would let me bring you home._

_Because you are mine, and I am yours._

_You accepted who I am, what I am, and you love me without question or reservation.  You let me pull back the curtain on who you are, what you are, and you’re learning that loving me the way you do means loving yourself in that way as well._

_You spent the better part of a year writing me a love story.  And when you were finished, you didn’t just give it to me.  You gave it to the world.  You gave it to people who love like we do, live like we do, so that that they might see that they are not alone, and that they are beautiful.  You gave it to people who have no idea what a love like ours truly is, so that they could see that love is love, whether draped in silk and satin or bound up in leather and rope.  You gave it to the world to try and help people understand that the agony and the ecstasy, the top and the bottom, the claiming and the yielding are simply a part of that exquisite balance we all seek when we reach out to connect to another.  You gave it to the world to guide and to teach and to reassure and to accept.  You gave me to the world, and you did it with such fierce and unapologetic pride.  And in doing so, Michelle, you gave me myself.  The man I’ve always wanted to be._

_You spent the better part of a year writing me a love story.  I’m not the writer here, love, so you’ll forgive me for being a little bit slower._

_You are mine, my beautiful Michelle.  You are my brilliant and brave and capable wife, my partner, you are my strong, soft and sweet submissive.  You are my pupil and my teacher, my motivation, my respite, the air in my lungs, the beat of my heart.  You are the other half that makes me whole._

_I am yours, your desperately devoted Tom.  I am your husband, I am your Dominant, I am your power, and your protector.  I am a heart to tend and provide for you.  I am arms to hold and harbor you, I am hands to cherish and correct you.  I am strength to raise you up, I am security when you need to let go and fall._

_I love it when you whisper my name in your sleep.  Keep the bed warm, little one, I’m nearly finished._

_Every moment I have spent with you has been the most amazing gift.  I’ve found a peace, a beauty, a contentment I never dared dream would be mine.  But we don’t live in a dream, Michelle.  I know you know that, perhaps better than I ever could.  You’re so familiar with pain, with loss.  You managed so much for so long, and all on your own.  There is pain ahead of us, my love; there will be loss as well.  We won’t always see eye to eye.  We’ll disagree, we’ll argue, we’ll fight.  And at the end of it all, we’ll fall into one another, cling to one another, heal one another._

_Because you are mine, and I am yours._

_Promise me, little one, that the walls we’ve torn down together won’t fortify between us ever again.  Trust me to hold your heart and keep it safe, just as I do your body.  Teach me your mind so you can believe that, even if you are completely and utterly lost, I am here, finding and forging a way to bring you home again._

_I promise to protect you with my life.  I promise to provide for you.  And I promise to forever cherish this precious, priceless gift you’ve given me, which is all of you, and all of myself._

_You’re muttering in your dreams, groping for the blankets.  My fault really, I left the curtain open. But there’s something about slipping into bed with you when you need a little extra warmth. The way you wriggle into my space, curling around me as if you know, even in your deepest dreams that you belong there.  Even your blasted little icicle toes can’t keep me from that._

_Last page done, time to slip it into its plastic placeholder and call it a night.  The binders did an exquisite job; I really hope you like it._

_“I won’t give up on us.  Even if the skies get rough.  I’m giving you all my love, and still looking up…”_

_Happy First Anniversary, darling little one.  Let’s have a hundred more._

_Forever,_

_Your Tom_

My eyes were dry when I closed the cover and hugged the book to my chest; for the moment, there was absolutely no reason to cry. I passed a worshipful hand over the flower on the cover, the symbol of Tom’s love, of my safety, of our promise to always strive to be exactly what the other wanted, what the other needed, and the assurance that our perfection came from the effort even more than the accomplishment. Rising silently to my feet, I carried it with me to the bed, setting it lovingly on the nightstand before tossing the comforter aside and slipping under the sheets next to my husband.

He was long and golden and perfect.  His hair was a smidge thinner on top than it was when we first met, but still silky soft and gloriously curly.  The crinkles I loved so much at the corners of his eyes and mouth were absent, smoothed away by the soothing hand of slumber, but I knew they’d be back when he blinked his lids open to greet day one of year two. The planes of his body were taut and fit and warm as I snuggled up against him; his soft, solid cock twitched ever so slightly as I teased my thigh along the length of his.  He winced a little as his arm tightened around me, his voice thick with sleep.  “You and your fucking frozen toes…”

“Sorry,” I whispered, pressing my lips against the firm muscle of his chest.  

“Mmmmm,” he shifted slightly against the mattress, drawing me closer and tucking my head beneath his chin.  “All finished then?”

“Mmmm-hmmm,” I nodded, teasing my fingertips through the golden hair between his nipples.  

“Do you like it?”

“Sir,” I murmured softly, bowing my head shyly. “I absolutely love it.”

“”Mmmm, good,” he hummed through a yawn.  “Sleep with me now.”

“Yes, Sir,” I knew it would only take moments, his body was so warm, his breathing so deep and steady.  

I’m sure by now you all know how it ended.  The words that frame and define my life, my love.   The words that are our touchstone, our call and response, our “flash” and “thunder”, our “I love you” and “I love you, too.”  You can stop here if you’re sick of them.  

But…

Just in case you’re a sucker like me…

_Tell me, little one…_

_I’m yours, Sir._

_Forever yours._


	8. Come Home for Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTES: Tom and Michelle's first married Christmas, and a lovely reminder that there's no place like home.

_Come Home for Christmas_

_At least I get to sleep in my own bed tonight.  Even if I am alone in it…_

That was the thought in my head as I fumbled with the television remote, aiming it at the set and turning it off. 

December 19th.  Tom and I had only been married a few months, and we had spent the majority of the last one apart.  I had thought being stateside with him while he filmed in Louisiana would be wonderful, and in many ways it had been.  The low-key atmosphere of the sets and studio provided a kind of privacy that had become rare for him to find; the fangirl fervor that had been the hallmark of so much of his location work simply wasn’t there.  There was friendship and food, a heaping load of Southern hospitality, and music… so much music.

But early rumblings from purists indicting Marc’s choice of performer had understandably put Tom on edge, and he was bound and determined to prove his director right and his critics wrong.  I, in turn, was bound and determined to support him, to be his biggest fan and cheerleader.  But his deep immersion into the difficult and often dark life of Williams, Sr. left little room for the effervescent and optimistic man that had captured my heart and claimed me for his own.  While Hank had never seemed so real, my Tom seemed to have slipped, at least temporarily, away.  So when Grace called to say that Doubleday was eager to set up some promotional appearances abroad, I was more agreeable than I would have thought.  It wasn’t that I wanted to get away from him, but I did believe that missing him from a distance might be at least a little easier than missing him while he was still close enough to touch.

The press tour had been a whirlwind, and the separation did indeed bring my Tom and his teasing nature back to the calls and texts and video chats we shared while we were apart.  And now, I was home in our flat in London, waiting out the last forty-eight hours before I could hold him in my arms again.  I’d spent the evening bringing the boxes of ornaments and decorations in from the garage, but I didn’t have the heart to actually begin hanging them from the walls, and it wasn’t like we had a tree yet anyway.  So, before the circumstances could leave me feeling any bluer than I already did, I snagged my laptop and headed upstairs to work on the article I’d promised to Elle UK.  I knew the odds were against my hearing from him before the morning, and I didn’t.  So, after watching the digital clock on the cable display illuminate midnight, I set the computer aside and, adjusting my flannel sleepshirt beneath the sheets, I curled myself around his pillow and closed my eyes.

I didn’t think I’d fall asleep easily, but jetlag and fatigue and the need to minimize the time I’d be aware of his absence all combined to draw me under.  I drifted in that no-time zone in the dark, listening to the wind and the first patters of drizzle rattle and tap against the window, making me shiver and pull the soft comforter under my chin.  With his face in my mind and his scent in my nose, the rain lulled me into a sweet, hazy dream of his lips on my mouth and his hands on my body.  Waves of heat radiated through me as I floated beneath imaginary fingers that plucked softly at buttons and pulled carefully at fabric; every hue of blue and green and gold swirled behind my closed lids as my body shifted and turned and arched towards that absent touch that felt so real. Warm, like my Tom.  Firm, like my Tom.  Insistent, guiding, demanding.  Like my Tom.

My Tom.

“Tom…?”

He was between my legs, already inside me when my eyes fluttered open.  Long and lean, hot and quietly hungry.  One strong hand had anchored my knee over his thigh, the fingers of the other were curled in the hair at the back of my head.  His mouth was gently working over his spot beneath my ear, and his cock was throbbing deep within me as his pelvic bone pressed against my clit.  “Tom…!”

His head lifted, his curls heavy with rain, glistening, diamond-bright drops sliding down his neck, leaving trails on his skin that caught the silvery light of the moon shining through the window.  His eyes were dark and desirous, and his smile was the most sensually beautiful thing I’d seen in months.  “Hello, little one,” he purred before slipping his tongue between my lips.  “I’m home…”

I threw myself into his kiss, winding my arms around him and pressing up against him with every ounce of strength I had.  I could taste coffee and mint, I could smell the wind and his aftershave, and I gorged on his presence like a woman starving.  Before long, he was chuckling into my mouth, amused by my enthusiasm, and I whimpered a little as he slid his hands along my arms to catch my wrists in his fingers.  “Oh, please, Tom… please,” I pouted my lip.  “I’ve missed you so much… please… let me hold you.”

He rose up above me, and at once, I loved and hated the quiet authority that settled into his handsome features.  “After, love,” he murmured steadfastly.  “Plenty of time for that after.”  He kissed me tenderly, then ticked his chin upward in an unmistakable gesture of command.  “Put your hands up and let me play.”

My arms were moving before I realized it, slipping under the pillow to grab the slats of the headboard just beyond it.  His grin of approval made my stomach flip, and he leaned forward to carefully bite and tug at my bottom lip with his teeth.  “Good girl…”  He moved his head back into the crook of my neck, and I shivered under the heat of his breath as his hands slid under me to cup my ass and lift me into his thrusts.  “Oh, my tight, sweet, little bird,” he laved at my earlobe, his voice vibrating at the center of my skull.  “Such a good little toy to be so wet and ready for me.”  His hair tickled damp lines beneath my chin as he bit at my throat.  “Have you missed me, darling?”

I nodded, arching beneath him as his mouth descended further to graze the valley between my breasts.  “So much, Tom… so fucking much…”

“Mmm, I’ve missed you,” his lips groped their way up to the stiff, excited peak of my nipple.  “I almost forgot how sweet you taste.”  He flickered his tongue over the sensitive bud, nudging against the responding twinge from the muscles that held him inside me.  “How good you smell…” He sucked hungrily until my eyes slid closed and my jaw fell slack.  “How fucking hot you are around my cock.”  He bit down, gently but firmly, and I bowed beneath him as he thrust a little harder, a little faster.  “Did you miss my cock, little one?”

“Yes, Sir,” I gasped, white-knuckling the wooden slats in my hands.  “I missed your cock so much.

All at once he stilled, watching me with an intensely teasing satisfaction that made my blood boil.  “Show me.”

My eyes widened a bit, and a tiny moan escaped my lips.  But the rest of my body needed no more urging, and within the beat of a heart, I was undulating and writhing below him.  I used my grip on the bed for as much leverage as I could, and lost myself in the beauty of his face as I worked my muscles around him and my flesh against his.  His eyes, so wide and dark, closed in blinks that lasted longer and longer, the tension in his jaw ebbed until he was sighing with every breath, and he even seemed to nod in unconscious endorsement with every shift and slide.  My thighs tensed and released against his hips, the swell of my belly below my navel grazed the damp, curly hair below his, my nipples teasing against his chest.

“Oh, yes,” his tongue darted out to wet his lips.  “Fuck me, little one.  Fuck yourself onto my cock.  Show me whom you belong to… every delicious inch of you.”

As I continued to buck and wriggle beneath him, he rose up, straighter and straighter, making me gasp as he sank deeper and deeper into me.  It was a slow, fluid roll and shift, ending with him on his knees between my legs, his hands guiding my legs up over his shoulders.  His eyes met mine, unbelievably clear, even as perspiration danced down his neck from his hairline.  “Not until I say, understood?”  He rasped roughly, and I nodded quickly.  “Say it, Michelle.”

“I won’t come until you say, Tom,” I mewled quietly.  “I promise.”

The sound of my submission unlocked something in him.  “Fucking Christ,” he muttered, wrapping his arms around my thighs.  He began to piston his hips, hard and fast in a punishing rhythm, and I was suddenly thankful for the polished wood I gripped in my fingers.  He was pushing my body at the perfect angle, grinding his head against my cervix while leaving my g-spot largely neglected and my clitoris completely untouched.  Exquisitely, bitingly unsatisfying, and yet I wanted to scream thanks to the ceiling.  Never had I imagined it would feel so good to be used, positioned and prodded and filled and fucked with so little regard for my own gratification, or how much I could crave living in the paradox of finding my own nirvana in exactly such denial.

My body wasn’t making it easy for me either, the long nights without him making me want to twist and squirm until he was hitting every spot that swelled and throbbed in search of his touch.  But the gleam in his eye, the pride in his smile, the sound of his excitement in every breath that chuffed out of his chest urged me on, gave me resolve, and I set my teeth together as I bowed off the mattress in offering.  “Oh, bloody hell,” he growled, one hand shifting to press low on my belly.  “You know what I want, love…”

“I do, Tom,” I nodded desperately.

“Give it to me, Michelle, every sweet little drop,” he demanded.  “Fucking saturate me.”

Another mighty thrust against me, and the dam burst, my eyes rolling back in my head and my lips parting in a soundless scream as my orgasm flooded out over him, soaking our bodies as well as the sheets beneath us.  The blinding release was euphoric, but when his strong fingers began to stroke over my clit, I was vaulted even higher as my next orgasm exploded through me before the shockwaves of the first had time to subside.  My muscles cramped so taut they ached, my eyes blown so wide everything was hazy and other-worldly blurry, and above it all, his humming, honeyed words.

“That’s it, little one… there you are… my wet little vixen.  Come for me, love…gush for me…”

I have no idea how the carved wooden dowels stayed lodged in the headboard, the way I tugged and thrashed below the onslaught of sensation that was nearly too much to bear.  But all of a sudden, he was upon me, every inch of his body pressed to mine, his fingers yanking mine free before plaiting them together.  Then, pinning them beside my head, he held me down himself, fucking me into the mattress until I was certain the bedframe would break beneath us.  The flood of my release made him slip deliciously against me, and the wet, slapping sounds that filled the air filled me with delight. 

“So fucking tight,” he groaned.  “So scalding hot… Jesus, Michelle, it’s been too long…”

“Harder, Tom, please…” I begged helplessly, not caring if it hurt me, not caring if it broke me in two.  “Fuck me harder…”

The sound he made at my request was inhuman, and then he was shifting, sliding his arms underneath me to mold me and shape me to his desire, thrusting harder, faster, deeper.  I wrapped my arms around him and held him as he took me, feeling his teeth scrabble over my throat, his stubble scraping fire into my skin, his fingers sinking so deep into the flesh of my hips and ass that there would be small purple bruises for him to kiss and coo over the following morning.  I could feel the war raging behind his brow, beneath every roll of sinew, in every pounding beat of his heart, the battle between  _now_  and  _wait_ , between  _yes_  and  _not yet_ , between  _almost there_  and  _don’t dare_.  And as his sweat rained down on me, as his ragged breath blasted across my neck, as his cock swelled and throbbed and plunged and sought, I willed him on with my hands in his hair and my voice in his ear.

“I love you, Tom… I love you… I love you…”

It was an eternity, it was a heartbeat, and it didn’t matter at all.  He carried us both, soaring into the nebula tangled in one another arms, lost in each other’s eyes.  And when he spilled inside me, when his tears of  _yes_  and  _thank you_  and  _at last_  caressed their way down his cheeks, I drew his head to mine.  I kissed away the salt and sweat until he lay limp against me, warm and welcome, whispering over and over, “I’m home… I’m home…”

I don’t know how long we dozed in that embrace before he shifted, worried as always that his weight would crush me, needing my arms to pull him back down in refusal.  His quiet “Eheheheheh” echoed in the silence, and I allowed him to move us both a bit more onto our sides, nested in the pillows and linens against the cool of the early morning air.  His head lifted, his lips found mine, and I breathed him in like a drowning woman finally breaking surface.  “Hello, my love,” he murmured when we parted.

“Hi there,” I grinned, tracing a finger along his jaw.  “Welcome home.”

“Thank you,” he kissed me once more, then nuzzled the tip of his nose against my cheek. 

“You’re early,” I chided softly, my grin betraying my delight.

“I couldn’t stand the thought of being away another moment,” he sighed with a weary smile.  “I hope that’s all right.”

“Eh,” I shrugged.  “I didn’t have anyone else scheduled to take that spot tonight, so I guess it’s okay.”

“Oh, you cheeky little brat!”  He grabbed at my ribs, tickling me breathless until I was shrieking for mercy.  He gazed down on me lovingly as I caught my breath, smoothing my hair back from my forehead.  “You did all the heavy lifting downstairs,” he mused quietly.  I nodded happily.  “Getting excited, are you?”

“What, for my first official Christmas as Mrs. Tom Hiddleston?” I giggled.  “Maybe a little.”

“Good,” he snuggled closer to me, yawning hugely as I nibbled at the corner of his jaw.  “So… what say we have a lie-in this morning, then maybe out to find a tree later?”    

“Yes!” I bounced happily in his arms.  “And the engravers left a message for me earlier, we can pick up the clock for your mom, too.  And I think I figured out exactly what we should get for Emma, but I’m still wracking my brain for Sarah, I mean that typewriter was so perfect but… does she even know how difficult she is to shop for?  I mean honestly…”

Tom’s warm, strong fingers slid up to cover my mouth as he burrowed his face into my neck.  “Later, love,” he said through another yawn.  “All that… I promise… later…”

I stroked my hand along his jaw.  “I love you, Tom.”

I could feel the curve of his grin against my skin.  “Tell me, then, my beauty…”

“I’m yours, Tom…

Welcome home.”


	9. Santorini Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The grey of winter begins to fade, the green of spring is just around the corner. But after long weeks of work-required separation, Tom and Michelle find solace on Santorini's sleepy cerulean shore...

“Michelle? Michelle, this is us over here…”

Charlotte’s melodic voice pulled me from my standing stupor and I blinked, shaking my head to clear my vision. Finally able to focus, I smiled at the young woman as she waved me towards the sleek silver sedan waiting at the curb. A petite Nubian beauty with an impeccable resume, she’d come on board for my book tour enthusiastically recommended by both Doubleday and Luke; while I’d initially wrinkled my nose at the notion of my needing an executive assistant, I now found myself convinced I’d never be able to get along without her. She took my small rolling suitcase from me as I passed her, handing it off to the driver and shooing me into the backseat before climbing in herself. The interior was warm and welcoming, the leather soft and sturdy, and I had just tucked myself into the corner with a sigh when my cellular chimed from my pocket.

_Welcome to Santorini, beautiful girl. Your flight went well, yes?_

The tension I’d been carrying in my chest all day loosened a little, and I lay my head against the window.

_Thank you, handsome man. It did. In the car on the way to the hotel now._

It only took a moment for my phone to buzz once more.

_Excellent. I’ll be waiting…_

“Now there’s a smile I haven’t seen in days.” I could feel my cheeks pinking at Charlotte’s sly little grin. “Mr. Wonderful?”

“Yeah,” I nodded, my gaze still fixed on the screen, my fingertip stroking over the words as if that gentle touch could be felt by the man who typed them from hundreds of miles away. “Mr. Wonderful.”

It had been ten very long and grueling days since Tom and I had been in the same country, and I scowled to myself as I mentally catalogued the remaining twelve that stretched endlessly in front of us. He was busy jetting from festival to festival with his fellow _High Rise_ cast members to promote the film’s release while I was traveling across Europe to promote **_A Pastiche Heart,_** and trying with all my might to figure out what the hell I was going to write about next. The scenery had been lush and lovely – Barcelona, Madrid, Milan, Florence – the people all warm and welcoming.

Tom had made an incredible effort to stay in touch and as engaged in my work as much as he was with his own, calling and texting throughout my sunlit hours, talking and teasing and tantalizing me to sleep every night from the screen of my laptop. Still, the irregular schedules, the nerve-wracking experience of putting my face to my work in so many different languages, and the gut-wrenching wistfulness left in the wake of my inability to feel my husband’s warmth, to smell and taste his skin left me needing his firm hand and rough touch more than I had in months.

I’d plowed through days of televised interviews on morning show sofas, answered questions from chairs on auditorium stages with moderators and translators at my side, signed enough copies of my book that I sometimes had to double-take, not recognizing my own name. It was bustling, busy, and beautiful. But now I found myself more than ready for this working detour that Charlotte had suggested we take before crossing the pond to continue promotion in my own native stomping grounds. The island was small, the bookstore a tiny little novelty tucked away in someone’s basement. The bait the owners floated was adorably irresistible (“It’s _the_ guilty pleasure read for the tourists this season – we can’t keep it on the shelf!”), their response to our confirmation hugely flattering (“Even Ms. Roberts didn’t create this kind of stir when she came in ’12!”).

Yet even this change of pace wasn’t free of its own unique pitfalls. I’d been rather excited to speak to Craig and Oliver, to thank them personally for such a kind invitation and review the schedule they’d need me to keep. They were sweet, solicitous, and after only a few moments of laid-back conversation, it was easy to see why even well-recognized writers would flock to their shop. But their non-committal kindness and laissez-faire attitude (“Well, we open at ten… just arrive when you’re ready. We’ll put the boards out once you’re settled and we’ll take it from there…”) was polar contrast to the step-in-time regimen I’d grown use to keeping, and now seemed to need to keep myself sane.

I pouted briefly at the mobile in my palm before tapping my fingers over the display again.

_I think I put my toothbrush in the bags I sent off to NYC._

A moment of silence, then a merry little chirp.

_People in Santorini brush their teeth too, little one, I’m sure you can get a new one if need be._

My brow furrowed deeper at his familiar yet infuriating logic.

_What if my bags don’t end up in NYC? What if they end up in Fargo? Or Seattle?_

I could actually see him rolling his eyes as he read.

_It’s luggage, Michelle. If it’s misdirected, we can get it back._

I clicked my tongue in irritation, shifted in my seat.

_I only have, like, three days’ worth of clothes with me here, Tom, and I’ll be using them here! What do I do if I cross the Atlantic and there’s nothing waiting for me on the other side? Do the morning shows in a hotel bathrobe while I wait on the dry cleaner?_

Silence stretched out from the device in my hand. I mentally counted to ten as well.

_Have you decided yet the order of the day?_

I turtled into myself, a rather impressive sulk judging by the lift of the eyebrow of the woman sitting next to me. I gazed out the window at the passing sunset, taking comfort and torment in equal measure from the golden light winking off lines and lines of ocean blue roofs.

_No._

A longer pause; I was beginning to wonder if his business at hand had called him away.

_Sign first. Let their first encounter be an opportunity to look into those beautiful brown eyes, to smell the orchid and amber on your skin, in your hair. Let the first time they hear your voice be your shy, sweet hello, the sound of their name, the warmth in your “thank you”. Then read. Chapter thirty-two, your Bangor sojourn. Read to them how I was lost, how you found me, how you brought us back to one another. Then take their questions, and show them exactly why I’m so very proud to share with them the woman that is mine._

The knot behind my ribs loosened that much more, enough to bring a tear to the corner of my eye.

_What if they don’t like it? What if they all sit there, white-faced, in shock?_

The hair on the back of my neck rose briefly as if his exasperated sigh had actually tickled its way across my skin.

_Has anybody sat there, white-faced, in shock so far? Has anyone told you they don’t like it?_

He couldn’t see from sixteen hundred miles away, but I still managed to keep my tongue in my mouth, rather than poke it out in an ugly sneer.

_No._

_Has anyone told you they don’t like_ you _?_

I chewed a bit on my lower lip.

_No._

_Has everyone, everywhere, so far, rather told you they love what you’ve written, the message you’ve sent, the bravery you’ve shown?_

I let my head fall back against the headrest, stealing one last glance at the setting sun before its rosy head slipped out of sight.

_Yes._

Another brief pause.

_Am I proud of you, Michelle?_

A flush of warmth spread like honey through my stomach.

_Yes, Sir._

_Are you proud of yourself?_

My chin lifted a bit, my back straightened as I typed.

_Yes._

I could see the sparkle in his cerulean gaze, the lines that crinkled the corners of his eyes and mouth.

_My lovely little one._

Charlotte’s head came to rest on my shoulder, and I lay my cheek briefly against her soft, dense corkscrew curls. “So wonderful how you two do that,” she cooed, “that connection you share. Makes him seem a little less… not here, you know?”

“Yeah,” I sighed. _Except he’s not here,_ I finished silently. Of course, my phone chimed again in chipper contradiction.

_What I wouldn’t give to be in that backseat with you…_

I swallowed audibly at the sight of those words, frozen, titillated and terrified.

_I can almost smell you, your sweet little cunt, wet and waiting for me._

“Well, okay then,” Charlotte’s head popped up as if on a string, her lilting giggle adding fuel to the fire that burned in my cheeks as I inhaled sharply. “That conversation just took a sharp turn.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled sheepishly as my fingers stuttered over the keyboard.

_Tom, I’m not alone…_

I could easily imagine the curl of his lip, the skip of his fingers as he tapped out his reply.

_Neither am I._

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” I groaned under my breath, crossing one leg over the other so I could squeeze my thighs together, covering my face with my hand as Charlotte tittered once more. “I’m really… very sorry…”

“Uh-uh,” the young woman shook her head as she engrossed herself in an open document on her tablet. “I read your book, I knew what I was signing up for. It takes a little more than sexy texting between consenting adults to turn my hair white.” She shot me a teasing little side-eyed wink. “You just remember that ‘hands-on’ isn’t part of my contract and we’ll be just fine.”

“Charlie!” I gasped, swatting at her shoulder before giving in to giggles of my own. My mobile buzzed again, and I held my breath as the text window opened.

_If you’ve been my good girl (and aren’t you always my good girl?), you’re wearing the violet silk. The ones with the latticework lace in the back, the pretty bow that sits just above the cleft of your ass. It feels so good, little one, to rub my cock against them, to feel the cool scrape of your panties above the heat of your skin. So beautiful, your beloved purple, your pale skin, the blush left by the flogger, the paddle, my hands._

I could feel the sting of my lip trapped between my teeth; my palm came to rest against my chest just above my now racing heart.

_They’re wet, aren’t they? Soaked through, I’d bet._

I couldn’t stop my head from nodding as I fumbled out the affirmation I knew he was expecting.

_I bet you taste amazing right now. What I wouldn’t give to feel those hot, wet little petals throbbing under my tongue… around my fingers… gripping my cock…_

My head fell back briefly, and I dragged air into my lungs to steady my swimming brain.

_I’m so hard right now, Michelle, after so long without you. I could split you in two, pounding away inside that greedy little cunt until you’re screaming my name, begging for mercy._

Squeezing my lids together until my eyes burned, I exhaled slowly before lifting my phone once more.

_I’m begging now, Sir…_

His velvety chuckle echoed through my skull.

_My poor little one. Take a breath, close your eyes. Uncross your legs, and lay your head back. Imagine my fingers in your hair and my lips on your neck. Let me hold you and soothe you, you’ll be there shortly._

I did as he bade, feeling a bit of the tension unlock from my shoulders and spine.

_I miss you, Sir._

_I miss you, too, little one, and I love you. So much._

The valet who met the car outside the Kirini Suites was a sweet, spry little man who shooed us aside before rounding to the trunk to fetch our bags; his smile was bright and friendly as he ushered us along the cliffside stairs to suite 21. As he trundled my suitcase inside, I gave Charlotte a warm, weary hug, confirming our plans for breakfast the following morning. Then, after wishing her sweet dreams, I stepped into the room myself, leaning against the closed door for one quiet moment.

The first thing that hit me was the scent of the new rain, pattering softly on the balcony just beyond the open window. I kicked off my shoes as I crossed the floor, and my heart fluttered briefly in my chest at the spread that waited for me on the desk in the corner. A small, breathing bottle of sweet Moscato, cuts of prosciutto and salami, olives, and cheese, a plate of dates and figs and light, flaky pastry, a lavender bouquet of lilies and larkspur. Tucked amongst the treasure, an ivory card with intimately familiar, looping scrawl.

_Pour, sip, have a bite. Set up your laptop and unpack your bag. I’ll join you soon. - T_

I’d just hung the last of my dresses on the rack in the closet when the Skype began to ring, and I bounced onto the bed, crawling towards the nightstand to answer the call.

“Hello there, beautiful girl,” he purred through the speakers, making my stomach flip as I settled down onto it, crossing my arms and resting my chin on them with a grin. He was propped up on pillows in his own hotel bed, his computer sitting on the mattress beside him. Bare chested above track shorts, one arm tucked behind his head, the other hand stroked absently over his stomach. I closed my eyes briefly as I imagined inhaling his scent, that intoxicating aroma of skin and cedarwood and sweat, and shivered.

“Hello, Sir,” I mewled softly. “God, I miss you so much.”

Gentle laughter rumbled through his chest. “I miss you, sweet, more than you know.” He cocked an inquisitive eyebrow at the table over my shoulder. “You ate a little, yes?”

“I did,” I nodded pertly, sitting up and reaching for the platters to show him only a few crumbs left behind. “You take such good care of me.”

“My favorite job,” he beamed through the screen, then laughed again as I covered my mouth, smothering the yawn that stretched my jaw. “Come on, little one. Out of that dress and into the bath with you.”

The water was filling the tub when I placed him on the bathroom sink, steam rising in an inviting wave. He shook his head as I tugged at my zipper, freezing my hands in place.

“Hair first, love,” he nodded at the locks tumbling down my back.

“But… I thought I’d…”

“You never sleep well with wet hair, darling, and we both know you’re just going to re-wash it in the morning.” His tone was even, no-nonsense. “Pin it up and be done with it, don’t make me tell you twice.” I made certain to keep the grumble out of my expression as I reached for a clip from my bag, twisting my tresses into a sloppy knot and securing it atop my head. “There’s a good girl. _Now_ the dress…”

I turned my back to him, gazing at him teasingly over one shoulder as I slid the garment off, giggling a little at the sight of his hand slipping under his waistband. He stroked his length, long and slow, as I unclasped my bra, and I took a step back before stepping free from the skirt, insuring his view extended well past my knees.

“Jesus, I miss you,” he gruffed, his hips shifting against the mattress as I hooked my fingers into my panties. “Get down to your skin and into that water before I blow right here…”

The liquid heat was heavenly, and I sank in to my earlobes with a sigh of relief. I filled my hands with water to splash on my face, scrubbing the day away as he watched from across the continent. I shivered at the sound of his cock sliding through his fist as he guided, instructed, taking away all need to think as he dictated touch after touch after touch.

“Back of your neck, love, rub the tension out as best you can… that’s it. Now your throat… down to your breasts… mmm, yes, there’s a good girl. Lean back now, my love, slide your hands to your stomach… I saw that little roll there, Michelle, get those greedy fingers away from my tight little cunt…”

“Tom,” I whined, splashing childishly, “I _need_ it.”

“What you need,” the edge of excitement never left his voice as his own hand continued to work his cock inside his shorts, “is to do as you’re told.” He paused for a steadying breath. “You’ve a busy day tomorrow, and you’re more in charge of what happens than you’ve been since this all started. You need a good night’s sleep, and a clear head for the morning. So stop whinging at me and show me those lovely legs of yours…”

I slumped back into the tub with an outward pout, but could already tell that, as always, he was exactly right. Whatever my body may have wanted, in that moment, it was the storm raging behind my brow that needed calming the most. And nothing had ever proven quite so comforting, so stabilizing, as submitting to the man who knew me better than I knew myself. And so I closed my eyes, surrendered my will, and drifted on a warm, calm tide as his voice led my fingers down along my thighs, past my calves to my ankles, around and up again. Calm, cleansing strokes between my legs, up over my belly, and I pushed my breasts together as he pulled free from his waistband, smiling sweetly as the streaks of his release spattered over his abdomen.

His panting had slowed and his eyes were sleepy at the corners as I crawled into bed, snuggling into my pillow as I smiled up at the screen.

“Alarm set?” He asked, tugging his shorts back into place.

“Seven-thirty,” I affirmed, tucking my hand under my chin.

“Breakfast with Charlotte?”

“Mmm-hmm,” I hummed before yawning again, “then the bookstore by ten.”

“Excellent,” he shifted his body, sliding between his own bedsheets. “You’ll wear the black silk bra and panties we played in our last night home, the ones with the matching belt and stockings…”

“I remember,” I sighed, squeezing my thighs together again.

“… and you’ll wear the blue Ralph Lauren. You’ll fit right in and they’ll fall in love,” he finished with a grin. “And I won’t say that I don’t love picturing you in your heels, but you be careful on those steps.”

“I will,” I nodded, my eyes open and sincere, “I promise.” A moment of silence lingered between us before I reached out, tracing my fingers over the line of his brow. “Tom?”

“Yes, little one?”

I offered him a shy smile. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me, love.”

I pouted my lip at him. “I want to.”

His face flushed with proud pleasure, his eyebrow quirking in its adorable arch. “Well, then, you’re welcome.”

“I love you, Tom,” my eyelids felt weighted, but I forced them open one last time.

“Then tell me, little one…”

It was as easy as breathing itself. “I’m yours.”

Darkness came, calm, cool, and quiet. I drifted in the ether as the rain continued its merry tap-dance outside, curling around my pillow as dream after dream of his strong arms and broad chest drew me deeper, and deeper. He tangled his fingers in my hair, whispered my name in my ear, rocked me to and fro until the sun poked just the tip of its bright golden head above the brilliant turquoise of the Santorini coast. The clouds had ceased their weeping, but fat, diamond drops of their lingering spill swung lazily from the eaves before splashing to the ground below; I blinked at their brilliance as the trill of my mobile roused me from my doze.

“Tom,” I yawned into the wrong end of the thing before flipping it right-side. “It’s only six o’clock!”

“Just how wet is that tight little cunt of mine?”

His tone. _The_ tone. Just one heartbeat, and I was wide awake, rigid with anticipation beneath my blanket.

“Very wet, Sir,” I licked my lips, drew in a shaky breath.

“Mmm, you answered so quickly, little one. Are you certain?”

I shifted one leg against the other, feeling the moist heat radiating from the urgently empty cleft between them. “Yes, Tom,” I nodded. “I was dreaming of you.”

“My good little girl,” he rumbled into my ear. “Spread your legs and reach down, love, tell me how warm you are.”

Before I could think, my hand was moving on its own, sliding down my stomach to cup my aching sex. “Warm,” I moaned quietly, my hips rolling into my touch, “getting warmer…”

“And how do you taste, little one? Dip your fingers inside, let me hear you lick them clean.”

Drunk on how reflexively my body bowed to his command, I obeyed, sweeping my tongue against my skin as if I were famished. “Salty,” I breathed, “musky… and a little sweet…”

“Jesus, Michelle,” I could hear the rustle of linen as he palmed his erection, “I’m starving for you. Find your clit, precious girl, just the tip of a finger.” My breathy sigh confirmed I had followed his order, his throaty groan told me his thumb was swirling circles around the leaking slit in his crown. “Quick little flickers, love, like the tip of my tongue.”

“Oh… God… Tom…” I pressed my head back into the pillow, closing my eyes, teasing my flesh to the rhythm of my pounding heart.

“Two fingers, darling, a firm, gentle tug… like I’m sucking you sweetly between my lips…”

“Yes… please…”

“Slow down, little one,” he growled, making my heart somehow sink and soar at once, “the day’s just begun… and you have a lot of hours in front of you yet…”

Time seemed to stand still as he purred through the phone, commanding my hands as easily as he would his own. Up over my breasts to tease the bullet points of my nipples, down between my slippery, swollen folds, up into my tight, clenching cunt, over and around my throbbing g-spot until I was shaking and sobbing and begging for more. Pulling, pushing, dragging me to the pinnacle of pleasure, only to back me down again and again. Finally, with my wake-up alarm buzzing in the background, he murmured quiet words of love as I whimpered and writhed, hyper-alert, exquisitely unsatisfied.

“Time to get up, my sweet little sub,” he crooned, encouraging. “Coffee will be there in half an hour, Charlotte will be waiting at the restaurant downstairs.”

I wanted to grumble and grouch at my aborted release, but I couldn’t deny I was in better shape than I’d expected. Adrenaline was surging through every cell of my body, humming beneath my skin like electric current. The haze of sleep was long gone, and the steps it would take me to get from the moment I was in to the one that was waiting at the end of the day stretched like a road map in front of me, crystal clear. Pushing myself up on my elbows, I blew a sweaty lock of hair off my forehead and cleared the gravel from my throat.

“Yes, Sir…”

Charlotte’s eyes were wide and shining as I crossed the restaurant dining room to join her at the table, thanking the waitress who set a glass of juice by my plate as I slipped into my chair.

“Well, I don’t have to ask if you slept well last night,” the young woman smiled. “You look like a million bucks.”

“Aw, thank you,” I squeezed her hand before taking a drink. “Nothing like late winter rain and open windows...”

I reviewed with her the plan Tom had suggested the night before while we ate, and she was quick to pull a copy of my book from her well-organized satchel. She bent her head over the pages, separating the chapter in question with clips and using a pencil to highlight suggested passages before handing it to me to slip into my purse. She gave me the card of the local press photographer and helped me master the pronunciation of her name, checked her seemingly endless supply of purple gel-writer pens. Then we were headed for the hired car, arms linked as we climbed the rocky outdoor steps to keep one another steady on our heels.

Craig and Oliver were waiting at the curb when we arrived, and they took turns sweeping each of us into warm, boisterous hugs.

“ _Kaliméra, kýrioi, sas efcharistó polý gia ti filoxenía sas_ ,” I greeted them warmly, the phrase Charlotte had taught me during our flight the day before.

“ _Kaliméra sas, ómorfi kyría, sígoura échete tin proforá káto_ ,” Oliver beamed with a small bow, “but no need for Greek! You speak your English…”

“…we’d love to hear some of that sweet, Southern charm,” Craig nodded enthusiastically.

I could feel my cheeks pinking as I glanced at my amused assistant. “Well… gentlemen,” I stammered a bit before the old drawl and rhythm reared its head, “you’re just too, too kind, bless your sweet little hearts. You sure do know how to make a girl feel at home, don’t you now?”

“Doesn’t she sound…?”

“Just like Scarlett O’Hara! Karen’s going to _love_ you, _agapiméni_ , she read that book dog-eared…”

“… knows every line of the film…”

“Remember that dress she made for that party we threw?”

Charlotte and I traded silent glances of warm bemusement as the men tucked us between them, leading us into the house and down the stairs to the store. Cozy and comfortable, we settled in at the table near the front of the stacks. A few other people milled over for hugs and hellos, and as the employees began to unpack piles of my manuscript by my side, I turned to my hosts with my schedule notes in hand.

“I thought I could greet and do signings up front,” I offered, “get a chance to thank everyone personally for coming before sitting to read.”

“Oh, that’s a great idea, love,” Craig nodded, leaning back with a grin, “whatever you like.”

“My husband actually suggested the chapter for today…”

“Why am I not surprised?” my cheeks pinked at Oliver’s question.

“Such an attentive man,” Karen grinned shyly as she smoothed dust from the glossy purple jacket of the book in her hand.

“So proud of _to korítsi tou_ , you two really are wonderful.”

I tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear, smiling shyly at the effusive praise. “The chapter in question,” I continued, pulling my copy of **_A Pastiche Heart_** from my bag “it’s about seven pages long. Would you like to go over it, maybe suggest which selection might suit the audience best?”

“Oh, _agapiméni_ , that’s up to you,” Craig extended his open palms as he and his partner nodded in tandem. “Your book, your material. We trust your judgement.”

“Okay, well,” I shifted in my seat as Charlotte giggled into her palm, “how much would be best, do you think? Two pages? Three?”

“Oh, Michelle,” Karen opened a copy of the hardback to sit proudly atop one pile, “you could read the whole book, if you like…”

With a deep breath and a gentle sigh, I settled back in my chair, letting the casual warmth of the conversation wash over me. The other employees had fallen into their duties; Tim and Maria brought us coffee while Will hauled the sandwich board up the stairs to the sidewalk. Slowly but surely, the store began to fill, people milling over to the table in small, polite herds. Many picked up copies of the book from the display, but more than a couple had prints of their own; I couldn’t help but get a bit misty-eyed as I signed them with care.

Mostly women, young and old, a few with husbands or boyfriends in tow. Starry-eyed girls who asked shyly after Tom, young women filled willed with a quiet confidence who offered grateful, knowing winks. One couple I recognized despite never having seen them before, her head held high even as her gaze lowered in deference, his hand at the small of her back in protective pride. It made my chest ache with happiness, with longing, and when the last volume had been inscribed and Karen urged the crowd to their seats, Charlotte nodded at my soft “excuse me”, and I slipped silently into the privacy of the bathroom.

Hands washed, eyes dabbed, I emerged with a sigh, pulling my cellular from my pocket as I leaned against the wall.

_My fingers are numb and my wrist is killing me, but I can honestly say it’s been a wonderful day. Thanks to you. I love you so much. And I miss you, Sir._

It only took a moment, and I shivered at the chime.

_I didn’t do anything you couldn’t have done yourself, sweet little one. But it’s always an honor and a privilege to do what I can. And I love you, Michelle, with all that I am._

“And there he is again,” Charlotte hummed as she sashayed by, laughing when I pressed the phone to my chest with a girlish sigh. “Doesn’t he have a panel of his own today?”

“To be totally honest,” I blew my bangs off my forehead, “I have no idea. I can say, however, I’m sure he’s keeping busy.” She disappeared into the ladies’ room as I straightened up, squaring my shoulders. I was two steps down the hall when my mobile chirped in my hand once again _._

_Ready to read, then?_

I smiled down at the display as I tapped out my reply.

_Yes, Sir._

_Excellent. Why don’t you make yourself just a little more comfortable? I’m sure those panties of yours are wet, are they not? You’ll feel so much better if you just slip them off…_

I swayed on my feet, my breath caught in my chest.

_I really don’t think that will make me feel better, Sir._

A heartbeat of silence, another, another.

_Does it make you feel better to do as I say?_

“God, I hate you, I hate you, I _hate_ you,” I seethed under my breath, knowing full well not a single word was actually the truth.

_Yes, Sir,_ I typed, pressing “send” with a huff.

_Panties off, Michelle. Do as I say._

My heart fluttered in my chest as I backed myself into the corner, peering nervously through the stacks as I slid my hands under my skirt as discreetly as possible. The lacy elastic snagged briefly on the clip to my stocking, and the sound of the toilet flushing from just across the hall made me wobble briefly in panic. Finally free, I unsnagged the silk from my heel, balling it into my fist and snarling at my persistently buzzing phone.

_Michelle? Michelle…_

_They’re off, Sir, they’re off._ I lay my head back against the wall until the alert sang merrily once more.

_Lovely. I’d like a picture, please. Let me see how wet they are._

“Goddammit, Tom…” My hands were shaking as I dangled the lingerie from my fingers, my eyes cutting towards the bathroom door as I heard the water running in the sink. I had just managed to send the snapshot off when the bathroom doorknob turned, and I practically sprinted down the hallway, my knees shaking as Charlotte called after me.

“Michelle?”

“I’ll be right there, Charlie,” I stuttered as I bent to grab my purse, “just need the book.” I shoved my sunglasses case and wallet aside, fumbling open the small zippered pocket and stuffing the bundle of fabric into it and sealing it shut before shaking the contents of the bag into an unassuming mess. I rose again to my full height, brushing my skirt down and straightening my neckline, then turned to meet the entertained, suspicious stare of my assistant who stood waiting for me, one hand one her hip, my copy of my manuscript held in the other.

“Oh,” I smiled guiltily, brushing my hair back from my forehead, “there it… thank you… sorry.” I jumped as my phone trilled yet again, closing my eyes in brief embarrassment.

_Such a good girl._

It took me a moment to make my way to the director’s chair at the center of the room, to sink into the seat and cross one leg modestly over the other. Opening the book on my lap, I tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear, smiling at my audience and drawing in breath. And as the words began to flow, the miles seemed to melt away and I was back in room 317 of the Clandeboye Lodge, Tom’s hands on my body, his voice in my ear. It was a bit of a jolt coming back to reality, and I felt my cheeks burning as I folded the book shut. But the kindness, the respect, the _recognition_ in the eyes staring back at me curled my lips into a smile before the applause washed over me in a gentle, generous wave.

We lingered and mingled far longer than I’d thought we would, Charlotte and I, and I was more than a little hoarse when she tugged at my elbow.

“You know I hate to bring the party to an end,” she murmured quietly in my ear, “but the car has been upstairs for nearly ten minutes.”

A chorus of thanks punctuated by hugs, and we emerged from the house into the late afternoon sun, rubbing our arms against the chill in the breeze. My hand was on the door handle of the idling SUV when Charlotte stopped short, snapping her fingers and turning on her heel.

“I told you I was going to forget that damn charger…”

I couldn’t help but laugh as I watched her retreat, pulling the door open so I could bundle myself into the warmth of the backseat to await her return.

“Santorini blue never looked so beautiful…”

My hand fell slack at my side and my bag slipped from my grasp, spilling its contents across the vehicle floor. All of a sudden there were three of him, four, as my eyes filled with tears and my knees turned to jelly.

“Tom?”

He shifted against the opposite side of the car, his body invitingly angled in the corner, one arm stretching across the back of the seat while the other reached for me.

“Hello, precious little one. Come here, let me hold you…”

I launched myself from the curb and into his embrace with all the grace of a newborn fawn, gasping and stumbling and groping for him as if my life depended on it. His arms circled me as I grabbed his neck in my hands, kissing every inch of his face, tasting his laughter as he rubbed my back.

“You’re here,” I sobbed softly into his mouth as his tongue flickered against my lips. “You’re here, you’re real, you’re really here… oh, God… Tom… I missed you so much…”

“Shhhh,” his fingers were strong and certain as they caressed the column of my throat, his thumbs nudging my chin higher as he nuzzled his way to his spot beneath my ear. I whimpered in relieved gratitude as his teeth sank into my skin, wriggling into his lap as his lazy suckling warmed faded pink to searing scarlet. I was dizzy and delighted when he released me at last, stroking a palm over his silky golden brown curls as I lay my forehead against his.

“I thought you were in Berlin…” I shivered as his touch ghosted its way down my arms, around my waist, his large hands on my hips pulling me more fully into his embrace.

“I was in Berlin,” he mused, stealing small kisses between words. “I’m here now,” his mouth quirked in a mischievous grin, “in desperate need of some sanity.” He nipped at my bottom lip. “Some stability.” His clear blue eyes held mine, steady and sure. “Some control.”

“Oh, Sir,” I exhaled, arching into him as he buried his face in the cleavage of my dress, “I think I have just the thing for you…”

One warm, hazy car ride later, he left me standing at the foot of the bed as he crossed the suite to open the windows; goosebumps flocked across my body as the early evening breeze danced its way through the gauzy curtains. I closed my eyes, drew a steadying breath deep into my lungs, knowing that it wouldn’t be long before flushed, sweaty skin would welcome the chill in the air. I was still drifting in the darkness behind my lids when I felt the heat of Tom’s body behind my own, the brush of his lips at the base of my neck, the tug of his fingers at the zipper of my dress. It fell to my feet, a gauzy cerulean heap that I nudged aside with my foot as his hands on my shoulders turned me to face him. Powerful and perfect, calm and quiet, I leaned into the caress of his knuckles against my cheek.

“Kneel for me.”

I felt those words as much as I heard them, their warm, welcome weight settling in the pit of my stomach, making it that much easier to sink into that familiar, favorite position in front of him. He towered above me, possessive, protective, and I straightened my frame, preening a bit in the safety of his shadow. My fingers itched to scurry up his legs, to trace the muscles of his thighs before opening his belt and tugging at his fly, but I held them still at the small of my back until his satisfied smile and encouraging nod gave me leave. Even then, I knew better than to move straight to buckle and button, and I bent my head, busying myself first with the laces of his shoes.

We moved as one in that small, mundane task until his feet were bare, before his hand slipped under my chin, lifting my gaze to his once more. His fingers moved to his collar, then gracefully from button to button, baring his chest and stomach an inch at a time. Finally, another nod, and I swallowed anticipation as I curled my grip around metal and leather, parted linen, peeled away cotton. Full, firm, and flushed, his cock rose in greeting, his face beaming with pride as I returned my hungry hands to the base of my spine, my nails digging half-moons into my wrists.

“Open your mouth.”

I obeyed, slicking my lips with a pass of my tongue as his hand caught the back of my head. I wanted to close my eyes as he slid slowly inside, to savor the taste of his skin, to feel the throb of his pulse and hear the hiss of his breath. He knew it, too, and the steely edge to his stare was all the silent warning I needed. So I relaxed my jaw, breathed in his scent, and sank eagerly into those warm pools of blue that always coaxed me in, and drew me under.

“Jesus… Michelle… such a good girl…”

His grip curled firmly in the upswept knot of my hair as he moved, his hips rolling forward, pausing as soft, downy curls tickled my nose, then easing back. Slow and smooth, until my throat was yearning for the stretch and strain of his invading girth; we moaned together as I swallowed hungrily around him. He tugged at my scalp as his pace quickened, his thumb catching and drying the grateful tears that slipped from the corner of my eyes. His touch traced the apple of my cheek, the angle of my jaw, slipping under my bra strap and sliding it down my shoulder. I shivered as the evening breeze drew my nipple to a taut bud for his fingers to tease, warmed by the heated, lusty pride in his smile.

“So fucking beautiful.”

I narrowed my eyes in sleepy seduction, tilting my head back to take his cock that much deeper, pushing my tongue out to tickle the sensitive spot between his testicles. He grunted in surprised delight, rewarding me with another sharp tug to my hair and another hard thrust against the back of my throat.

“A little come-hungry tonight, darling?” he purred through his grin, and I nodded, bobbing on his shaft and making him grind his teeth in pleasure. “You have missed me, haven’t you?” He slid free from my mouth, his fist pumping his length in lazy afterthought in front of my eyes. I mewled in dismay, soothed by the steady tug of his hand as he pulled my head back, his own tongue clicking in quiet reprimand as I strained to taste him once more.

“Patience, greedy thing,” he huffed, the slightly breathless edge to his voice making every muscle below my navel clench and twist in agonized longing. I wriggled in response, desperate to squeeze my thighs together against the ache, but a prod of his foot to the inside of my knee and a shake of his head stopped me cold. “Keep those legs open, Michelle, or the only thing you’ll feel between them is the sting of my belt.”

“Yes, Sir,” I gulped as he nudged the heavy sack of his balls between my parted lips, suckling eagerly as he continued to work his hand over and around his shaft in long, firm strokes. His thumb caught each fat, shimmering bead of fluid that leaked from his slit, his breath left him in shuddering sighs as he watched me lick the digit clean. Before long, he was shrugging his open shirt to the floor, diamonds of sweat beading on his skin.

“Every drop,” he growled, his shoulders squared in command. “Understand?”

I beamed up at him, I couldn’t help it. “With pleasure, Sir.”

It’s not often that eagerness gets the better of him, and it’s always a uniquely delicious thrill when it does. After a few more rapid strokes his body was hitching of its own accord, his head thrown back as he rocked into his fist, his hand in my hair actually holding me back as his fingers clenched against my scalp. I pulled against his hold until his need for contact overwhelmed his desire for control; he’d just begun to spurt when the tip of my tongue grazed the curve of his crown. His eyes were hazy, a bit bewildered as he watched me arch, angling my open mouth to take what he gave and purring in delight at the tangy bite that spread across my palate. When at last his iron grip began to relax I bent closer, sealing my lips around him and drawing him deep once more. A long, low rumble spilled from his lips as I sucked, soft and gentle around his erection that waned but did not completely wither.

And then he was on his own knees at my side, the hand once tugging his cock now curled around my throat as his mouth devoured mine.

“Sometimes, little one,” he whispered against my cheek, “I forget just how fucking good you are at this.”

I exhaled a small giggle, a saucy “thank you” bubbling up from my chest. But my breath left in a rush when he moved with lightning speed, my eyes flying wide as his fingers filled me with one savage push.

“Shh, little bird,” he chuckled into my ear. “Not a sound. You want it… you earned it… you can certainly take it.” He nuzzled my temple, tender and chaste, a stark contrast to the hand tugging viciously at the cleft between my legs. “Your body is begging for it… so hot… dripping wet…” He dragged my open mouth back to his own, only to tease me with shy, sweet kisses that further scrambled the signals firing haywire in my brain.

“You want to come for me, don’t you, little one?”

His tone was maddening, infuriating; a theatrically quiet and uncertain plea out of place in the mouth of a wolf hovering his prey. I nodded haltingly in his grasp, clenching my teeth to trap my voice, desperate to indulge in the begging he’d forbidden.

“Such a good girl,” he groaned before pulling me back once more, bending my body to a taut bow in his arms before lowering his lips to my exposed breast.   His tongue lashed at my nipple before drawing it into his mouth, his teeth scraping my skin as he suckled. His thumb pressed hard against my swollen, slippery clit, and silent screams echoed through my head as his fingertips inside me rubbed at the raised, aching flesh of my g-spot. Fine pinpricks of pain radiated up from my knees digging into the carpet, my hands were a constellation of needling twinges as I white-knuckled my nails into my palms. But none of that mattered when he rose to look down on me once more, the blazing blue fire of his gaze burning away all but the pleasure when that single syllable lit the fuse coiled in the pit of my belly.

“Come.”

In an instant, the world tilted, dropped out from under me and I was vaulted, launched like rocket into the nebula of his eyes. His ragged breath across my brow set the tempo as I flew, higher and higher, weightless, breathless. I hung tingling in orbit, hypnotized by the rush of my blood in my ears until he beckoned, my name in his voice calling me back too soon and not soon enough. I huddled at the foot of that luxurious bed in that beautiful suite, a trembling mess in his soothing embrace. I whimpered a worship-filled “Sir” around the fingers he pushed into my mouth, tasting the gift of my unexpected release as he brushed a kiss of warm praise against my cheek.

I was only just coherent once more when he lowered me to the mattress, impatiently stripping away lace and silk before covering me with his smoldering, solid weight. He let me twine my fingers through his damp golden curls for one luxurious moment, kissing me breathless with deep sweeps of his tongue before tugging them loose and guiding them to the headboard. I sobbed softly in excitement as I clutched the smooth, polished wood, he shushed me absently as his touch pianoed down my arms. I moaned into his mouth as he tasted my lips, his palms molding my breasts to aching peaks, his thumbs teasing the pebbled flesh at their tips. His cock was molten iron, velvety smooth, and he rutted shamelessly against the seam between my legs, the flood of my arousal leaving him slick and slippery wet. My stockings had popped a few small runs as I’d knelt against my high-heeled pumps; his fingers found them, tearing them larger so that he could feel my skin as he drew my legs up over his hips.

“Whose?” He demanded gruffly, his forehead against mine, the head of his cock nudging at the entrance of my cunt.

“Yours, Tom,” I gasped, begging with my eyes and the whine in my voice. “Always.”

I was made for him, and he for me; that’s never clearer to me than when he slides home, takes his place inside me, and makes me whole. A little too thick, a little too long, he pushes and presses, and my body makes way, stretching and surrendering, every burning ache a revelation, a reminder, a reason, like so many other reasons he gives me, to keep breathing. Too much, and never enough.

I’d just adjusted to that long-missed familiar strain when his mouth found my earlobe, his teeth tugging briefly before his voice filled my head.

“You know I dream of this, don’t you, little one, when we’re apart? When the miles keep you from me and force me to endure long hours of dark without you beside me, beneath me, like this?   Even if the last thing I hear before sleep is your sweet, broken voice through the phone in my hand, even if the last thing I see before I close my eyes is you, already dozing on the screen on the bedside table. Even if we’ve pulled and played and brought one another off with our long-distance games, even if I’m so worn and drained all I’ve left is the strength to pull up the covers and turn out the light.”

He pushed himself up on his arms above me, the slow and steady roll of his hips never slowing as he spoke.

“I carry you with me, my love, my Michelle, every minute… of every hour… of every day and night. The whisper of your hair, the smell of your skin. The taste of your lips,” he paused to steal one lingering kiss, “the warmth, the soft embrace of your body. The curve of your smile,” he grinned as his fingers danced over my ribcage, making me squirm and squeal, “the sound of your laughter.” He fell quiet for a moment, shifting just a bit, reaching up for my hands and plaiting his fingers through mine, pinning them to the pillow on either side of my head. “My name as you beg…as you so love to beg…”

“Tom, please,” I sobbed, “I’ve missed you so much… I love you… please… please, Sir, please…”

“What would you have, love?” he dragged the heat of his mouth along the angle of my jaw. “Tell me… be quick…”

“Please, Sir,” I rasped, bowing my head under the authority of his gaze, “let me touch you. Let me hold you. Let me feel you come inside me, let me come for you, please…”

With an inarticulate growl, he pushed his tongue between my lips, and I moaned in gratitude as he released me, grabbing and gripping the curves of my buttocks as my arms flew around him. He surged between my legs, lifting me sharply into each thrust. And when he felt my clenched fists press against his back, his indulgent chuckle vibrated through my chest pressed to his.

“Go ahead, little one. Leave a sting for me to take with me…”

I didn’t think I’d be able to; after all, it’s my place, my pleasure, my honor, to wear the marks he leaves in his wake, not to leave marks of my own on him. But I belong to him, and his will is mine. So my fingers hooked into claws, and his breath hissed through the teeth clamped firmly on his spot below my ear as I raked scarlet furrows into his skin. His hips pistoned quicker, filling the air with wanton, wet applause as his skin slapped against mine. Harder and harder he drove himself, dragging me along, his giddy, grateful hostage. And when he was ready, he fisted my hair, snarling beneath the strain of his desire.

“Fucking come with me, Michelle… _Christ_ , do it now…”

Blinding white light, sweet stabbing agony, followed by the kaleidoscope of cresting, crashing colors that drag me down into the exquisite little deaths he authors, so remarkably fluent in the language of everything I want and need. His scent filled my nostrils as he spilled into me, kissed me, collapsed into my arms; I wound myself around him, unapologetically greedy, purring as I nuzzled the sweat from his skin.

“Little brat,” he mumbled drunkenly into my hair as he shifted against the prickle of my scratches. “…fucking stings…”

“You said…” I whinged until he covered my mouth with his, his body pressing me into the mattress, his fingers pulling the pins from my disheveled updo until he could spread my hair on the pillow around me.

Our bodies cooled, our breathing slowed, I blinked butterfly kisses against his cheek as he whispered “I love you” into my neck. The rain began anew, a merry symphony pattering beyond the open windows, and he rolled onto his back, pulling me along and drawing the blankets up over us to block out the chill. A hundred questions danced through my head – _how_ and _why_ and _did I do well_ and _for how long_ – but my tongue in my mouth felt as heavy as the lids I now struggled to keep open. The heat of his skin, the beat of his heart… I almost missed the soft, murmured call from his lips.

Almost.

“Tell me, little one…”

My head was heavy but my heart was light as air when I rose up to look down at his sweet, satisfied smile. I kissed the crow’s feet slowly fading from the corners of his eyes under the smoothing caress of sleep, the naked skin slightly more prominent at the front of his hairline. My favorite imperfections that make him that much more perfect in my eyes. All that he is, he is mine.

And me?

Always and forever.

“I’m yours, Tom. I’m yours.”


	10. A Pastiche Halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sun is setting earlier, the dark of night seems that much darker, and there's a titillating chill in the air. Ghosts, ghouls, and goblins abound... it's Halloween once more, and Tom and Michelle invite you now to join them off the beaten path in this brief little adventure.
> 
> Be warned, wonderful readers, this one's a little different. Fantasy and horror, a definite departure from the things they've shared before, but at heart, it's always them.

Is there really anyone in the world who doesn’t love autumn? Cooling temperatures, the smell of brisk, clean wind and rain, falling leaves, and everywhere you look you find constant reminders that all brilliant colors came from nature before they sprang up in your box of Crayolas. And while I often miss the bright sapphire and emerald hues of the Carolina coast, there’s always something oddly comforting about the shades of fading moss and glowing gold edged in London’s regal, steely grey.

Tom and I had ushered in our third year as man and wife with a wonderfully naughty Vermont getaway, and I was still somewhat afloat in its lingering haze when he called from location on the coast of Belgium with welcome news of wrapping work early. The sun was high and the breeze was not too bitingly cold the afternoon he returned home, all long golden brown curls with a face full of matching scruff, so it wasn’t difficult to persuade him out for a drive. We packed hamper and blanket away in the trunk of the Jag and quickly abandoned the main road, heading happily into the solitude and silence of majestic English woods. I’d purchased a new lens for my old friend; I used it to snap photos of the adorably fat, scurrying squirrels chasing one another along branches that wept red and orange and yellow, and of Tom as he popped the cork on the Autumn’s Gold cider and spread the soft, plaid fleece over crisp grass. Before long he was lounging in the middle, laughing and beckoning me close to sip from his glass and eat from his fingers.

He regaled me all afternoon with stories from the set, tales of how nice it was to do camera work with Kenneth again, how his co-star Amandla’s rescue mutt had become an unexpected scene-stealing extra, and how (just between him and me) performing his own stunts was becoming _just_ ever-so-slightly more spill than thrill. I giggled at that last, pushing his glasses up on his nose and reminding him that, in my eyes anyway, he was at least as good as he had ever been. We reviewed my agenda for my own upcoming project, a series of panel discussions sponsored by the Women’s Studies department of NYU that I would participate in and chronicle for both the university and the associated press. I was over the moon to have received the invitation, and as the event – one that would place me as bewildered peer alongside the likes of Steinham, Afshar, and Walker - drew nearer, I was more and more thankful to have Tom’s commanding, calming presence close by once again.

We grazed until the food was gone, drank until the bottle was dry, and Tom rose to offer me his hands, pulling me to my feet and tucking me under his arm. The crunch of leaves beneath our boots and the feathery whistle of the wind set the perfect soundtrack for our ambling walk, the heat of his body keeping the chill of the settling evening at bay. He pointed out the thrushes flitting to and fro to dress their winter nests, teased me when the clever vixen I spotted near a rotting oak darted into the underbrush before I could focus him or the Nikon on her brilliant blazing coat.

There was no missing or mistaking the stag, however, his impressive eight points rising from his skull as he dipped his onyx nose to the chilly water of a calm, quiet pond. Tom and I hovered just beyond the opposite shore until he’d made it clear our presence didn’t bother him in the slightest; in fact, he seemed primed and ready to pose when I lifted the camera with reverent care. One clicks, two, then with a quiet nicker and a twitch of one ear, he returned his attention to the soft grass below his hooves, chewing amiably as Tom skipped stones across the pool’s glassy surface.

“It’s so unbelievably beautiful here,” I sighed, leaning against the moss-covered belly of a slate-colored boulder, snapping a shot of the darkening sky, tiny diamond drops of stars just starting to wink above the canopy of the trees.

“It is,” Tom agreed, his voice a bit thin, his wrist flipping efficiently so he could check his watch. “Much as I adore the city, it’s nice to have such a refuge so close by.”

“I almost want to say we should build a house here someday,” I snapped another shot of waving branches shedding their leafy attire. “But places like this deserve to stay untouched, don’t you think? At least in any permanent way…”

“Mmm,” he nodded absently, glancing once more at the Emporio on his arm. “Speaking of… we should probably head back to the car.”

“You don’t want to go just a little bit further?” I couldn’t help but sulk. “I mean, who knows when we can sneak away like this again?”

“Little one,” his tone was deepening, taking on that velvety edge I loved so much, “it’s getting dark, and neither of us can afford to catch a bug with the schedules we have coming up.”

“Yeah, but it really isn’t _that_ cold...” I was playing a dangerous game, letting a whine creep into my voice. But the marks from my lovely leather anniversary gifts had all but faded away, and I was in the mood to dance the razor’s edge once more. “Besides,” I slipped the camera from around my neck and placed it on the rock beside me before reaching for the buttons of my coat, “I’m betting we can find some very interesting ways to keep each other warm.”

“Lovely as that sounds,” he dropped his head, a brief stream of “eheheheheh” bubbling from his lips as he held out his hand, “I really think we should get going.”

“Tom,” I whinged playfully, shrugging the wool from my shoulders before using my forearms to push my cleavage more fully into the v-neck of my sweater. “Sir… come play with me.”

“Michelle,” his face was drawn, a little pale as he removed his glasses, sliding them into the pocket of his jacket. “Not here, love.” The woods’ discarded wardrobe crunched beneath his feet as he took a few steps closer, his arm still extended in expectation. “Come on. Let me take you home.”

“I don’t want to go home,” I pouted my lip, backing away with a gleam in my eye. “I want to play outside.”

“Michelle,” I watched him swallow with effort, feeling my brow furrow at the sight of the perspiration dotting his. “This isn’t funny. Come on… we’ve got to go.”

“What’s wrong with you?” I queried, sour and sullen. “Today is supposed to be for fun…”

“Michelle…”

“Why are you acting this way all of a sudden? Like it’s a bad thing that we’re out here?”

“Because, Michelle,” he swiped a hand over his damp upper lip, dragged his fingers through the scruff on his chin. “It isn’t safe.”

“Are you nuts?” I threw my arms up in frustration. “It’s only you and me, it’s safe as churches out here! I mean… look… even our friend over there knows that…” I swung my eyes to the east, only to have my words choke to silence in my throat.

The buck’s head had snapped upright and he was frozen statue still, black eyes wide in the growing dim. His ears were perked as if listening for some distant call, and his limbs were taut with tension. Slowly he began to paw the ground, and I watched steam rise from a snort of his nostrils. A rustle of wind, the snap of a branch, and he was off with an urgent bolt, the kick of his muscular legs sending dirt and debris splashing across the water in his wake.

“What the…”

I turned my focus back to my husband, seeking reassurance, comfort; what I found was anything but.

“Tom?”

He’d doubled over as if in pain, his entire body shaking like the leaves we’d watched drift to the ground all day. He stumbled back an awkward step, nearly fell, but kept his footing.

“Tom!” I moved on instinct, darting forward as if to catch him. But his arm shot out to keep me away, every vein and tendon on throbbing display in his clenched fist.

“Michelle…” weak, tremulous, terrified. “Run.”

“Tom!” I could feel bile and tears competing for purchase in the back of my throat as my palm hovered above his hand. Heat boiled off of him as if from a stovetop, and I could feel my knees beginning to quiver. “Sweetie… my God… what’s the matter?”

The face that snapped up to glare at me was familiar and alien all at once, blazing blue eyes staring from beneath a brow that widened, broadened, above cheeks suddenly covered with thick golden brown hair. Thin lips pulled back from teeth now long and sharp and shining, and the growl that emerged when they parted was anything but human.

“ _MICHELLE…I SAID… **RUN**!”_

My hand flew to my mouth as my ankles tangled together, the air woofing out of my lungs in a harsh bark as I crashed to my tailbone in the dirt. I could taste bright copper as my teeth clicked shut on my tongue and I could feel twigs and pine needles scraping my skin through the cashmere sleeves of my sweater as I scooted reflexively backward. But all other sensation faded into the background, a biting knife of shock stabbing its way into my gut as I watched what was happening to the man I loved.

The seams of his clothes were swelling, splitting, the limbs that emerged obscenely muscled and covered with coarse, golden brown fur. Broad and powerful padded paws burst the leather of his boots, his fingers lengthened, widened, thick claws of midnight black curled from his fingertips. And as he threw his head back, as his long, handsome English face stretched into a menacing muzzle, a low, threatening howl in a voice not completely unfamiliar rose to meet the full orb of the moon now hovering in the darkness above.

“This…” I stammered, still scrambling back until I collided with the boulder behind me, “this is a joke… this is a dream… Tom… oh, Jesus, Tom…”

His head snapped around at the sound of his name, and my blood turned to ice in my veins as I watched the blue of his eyes all but vanish into bottomless pools of eerie onyx. His long, lupine tongue dripped silver strands of saliva as he passed it slowly, deliberately over the ivory daggers of his incisors, and his shoulders hunched, taut with predatory tension as he crept forward a step, then another.

“This… is not… happening…” I rasped, slapping myself across one cheek. A burning sting radiated through my face, a hollow ringing echoed in my ear, and still the creature in front of me advanced at a calm and cruelly measured pace. My fingers scrabbled for purchase against the rock as I struggled to put myself back on my feet, my heart a hammer pounding in my chest. “Tom? Tom! Jesus… are you even Tom anymore?”

A chill chattered down my spine as his muzzle curled in a vicious smirk, and I barely managed to scrape along the side of the boulder before pushing myself into a staggering run. A savage snarl cut the air, and I didn’t have to look back to know that he was giving chase, ears back, sharp teeth snapping at my heels.

The wind picked up as I flew through the forest, bending bony fingers of tree branches to scratch at my face and snatch at my hair. I was grateful at first for its frigid caress, the way it cooled my flushed and sweating skin as my arms and legs propelled me furiously forward. But before long it was burning into the taxed tissue of my lungs, sinking the blade in my side that much deeper. I began to bob and weave as best I could, ducking around trunks and hurdling fallen logs, always mindful of the constant thud of the paws on the damp earth just behind. One sharp turn, and my ankle gave way, sending me tumbling down a leaf-littered incline with a distinctly pathetic little scream. I could hear his howl rising again, full and furious from the ridge above, and I crawled frantically for the cover of nearby shrubbery as he sprinted off in search of a safer path down to the bottom of the hill.

I’ve no idea how long I clawed my way along the chilly ground, my teeth chattering in my head from cold and fear and pure, pumping adrenaline. I’d just squeezed myself into the hollow of one ancient trunk, praying for a moment to catch my breath and gather my wits, when the sound of him skidding to a halt behind the tree made me slam my eyes shut tight. I clapped my hand over my mouth, panting as quietly as I could as I listened to him stalk the perimeter outside, a low growl rumbling deep in his throat as his thick, furry pelt scraped against the bark. I listened to him sniff the air, shivered at the angry timber in his dissatisfied snort.

And then, by some unexplainable miracle, he was stalking away to the west, the cadence of his stride picking up speed as it carried him into the distance. I held my breath a moment longer, allowing a full moment of silence to pass before sobbing it softly into my fist. I swiped at the tears that were streaking my face, hissing a bit as their salt burned its way into the scratches furrowing my skin. Finally, drawing in a deep lungful of fresh oxygen, I crawled carefully out of my protective cover, blinking to focus my bleary eyes.

A soft, silvery mist carpeted the floor of the forest, swirling around my ankles as I tested my weight on one, then the other. The left was fine but the right sang out a screeching aria as soon as I planted it, and I reopened the wound on my tongue biting back a scream. Clenching my jaw and digging my nails into my palms, I pushed myself into motion, limping clumsily back the direction, I hoped, we’d come from.

I’d only been shuffling along a short time when the dense rows of oak and ash and elm began to thin, giving way to a clearing at least the length of a football field. No cover, nowhere to hide, the alcove was bathed in mockingly bright moonlight. I stood and stared, combing my gaze over every possible inch before squaring my shoulders and moving forward once more, a silent prayer on repeat in the depths of my brain.

_Please, God. Please… please, please, dear God… please…_

I had nearly reached the shelter of the woods once more when I heard it, the crunch of hibernating grass underneath massive paws, the wet, slurping sound of a salivating tongue licking hungrily across canines and incisors. My eyes were wide and wet as I turned, slow, scared, my limbs dragging as if through quicksand.

He was terrible and beautiful, and my breath stopped behind my ribs as I looked, _reall_ y looked, for the first time. His coat was thick and lush, shining in the moon’s brilliant glow; I could smell the earthy, spicy musk of him as he raised his hackles with a vibrating shake. Head to toe sinew and strength, beast and man in one. He stood erect, watching me with icy regard as I shivered, his claws clicking mutely as his fingers twitched with the electric surge of his racing blood. I might have lost myself in fascination, were it not for the cold, hungry embers glowing malevolent red in the blue of his eyes.

“T-T-Tom, please,” I stammered, backing up one hobbled step at a time, my hands held out in front of me in pleading, empty defense. “Tom, it’s me… it’s your M-Michelle… your little one… please… you’re scaring me… please…” His posture hunched and he snapped his jaws around a blood-chilling bark that echoed into the night, making me jump and tremble where I stood. “T-T-Tom, _please_ …” I sobbed, stealing a glance over my shoulder to make certain nothing behind my heels would send me sprawling ass over teakettle as I edged closer and closer to what I was desperate to believe was the safety of the tree line. “Please…”

He cocked his head in curious fashion, licked his whiskers in another slow, taunting taste. I registered the subtle squat of his powerful (hind?) legs, and whirled with a muted shriek, hurling myself back into the woods as he launched himself once more in pursuit. My chest was ablaze, the knife digging in above my hip had plunged deeper to the small of my back, and I could feel my ankle swelling in my boot. But on I ran, as fast as I could, until the sight of the deadfall blocking my path yards ahead stole all the air left in the world. Digging my teeth into my bottom lip, I threw myself towards it, clawing my way higher and higher, half convincing myself that, if I made it over, I would somehow make it further, make it away, to safety, unscathed.

I was halfway to the top when I spared a frantic glance over my shoulder, sweat and tears doubling my vision. The creature had reached the bottom of the barricade and was looking up at me, teeth bared in an unmistakably wicked grin. I watched muscle ripple beneath his fur as he crouched low, collecting his strength, a rumble of determination rising from deep within his gut. I turned my face back to the bark and branches above me, the few remaining feet stretching into impossible miles. Squeezing my eyes shut, I pushed myself one last laughable inch as he vaulted from the ground. His mighty leap landed his body easily over mine, gravity dragging us both down together as his thrashing arms sent debris flying every which way in the darkness. We landed doubled over one thick, rotting log, his broad, heavy chest pinning me beneath him. The chill of the autumn night was all but forgotten as the heat of him overwhelmed me, suffocating, making me gasp and sweat as I babbled a stream of instinctual begging I couldn’t have suppressed if I tried.

“Tom! Please! _Stop_! Get off of me… you’re hurting me… please… please… _please please STOP!”_

The only answer I received was a low, warning snarl against the back of my neck as his arms closed tight around me, threatening to squeeze away what little air my lungs held without a second thought. A boiling surge of panic bubbled in my stomach and I began to struggle in earnest, kicking frantically, my legs connecting with nothing but air. His hoarse and husky bark sounded right beside my ear, a deafening roar that made me mewl in terror. The purr and tear of parting fabric harmonized with the rasping whuffs of his breath as his claws curled ruthlessly into my sweater, my leggings, some slashes deliberate while others were merely side effects of my own hysterical thrashing. His savage impatience was palpable as he wrestled me down, one large paw anchoring me to the ground at the base of my skull while his jaws snapped open and shut, tearing cloth away with a wild whipping of his head.

Our grappling opened a shallow furrow the length of my shoulder blade, scratched scarlet hash marks into the soft curves of my hips. My palms, already raw from my ill-fated climb, were threaded with needle-thin abrasions, tiny rocks and slivers of wood bit into my knees, my shins. But more frightening than all of those things was the immediate illicit and not at all unpleasant burn that settled in the hollow of my gut and stretched warm, wicked fingers down between my legs when the broad, pink wet of his tongue laved the blood that dripped from each of my scuffs and scrapes.

“T-T-T-Tom?”

He lifted his head at the sound of my voice, the midnight black of his eyes filled with a malevolent gleam. We held each other’s gaze a brief and breathless moment; then, as I watched, his lids slid shut as he sniffed the air, long, deliberate and deep. Slowly, they opened once more, flashing warm blue fire I’d recognize anywhere.

By then, of course, resistance was more than futile. It was ridiculously, deliciously absurd.

My hands that had been fisting the soil as I tried to pull myself away went slack, and tiny clouds of fine dust skittered into the air on the gusts of my breath as I lay my cheek against the ground. The chill of the evening breeze dusted over my back as he rose up with a mockingly mollified woof, and I whimpered, embarrassed and excited as the heat of his muzzle burrowed between my thighs. Snuffling and snorting, the broad, strong expanse of his forehead pushed against me, forcing me up onto my knees before nudging them roughly apart.

I hissed at the scrape of his fur against my abraded skin as his body covered mine once more, then gasped aloud, my eyes blowing wide as the thick, hard shaft of his cock pushed its way between my labia. I buried my burning cheeks in the cold, dry blades of grass and fallen leaves as he rutted methodically against me, bathing his length in the wetness that dripped almost defensively from my body. A velvety rumble rose from deep within his chest, vibrating through me as the damp heat of his nose foraged through my hair in search of flesh. He found it, the hammering pulse point beneath my ear, and I shivered as his tongue licked hungrily at the sweat and the dirt. His powerful snout pushed my head to the side, and I watched his eyes narrow to slits as his hands braced on either side of my shoulders, as his hips moved his leaking tip against the clenched entrance of my cunt.

“Please,” I whispered, his whiskers tickling my lips. “Please, Tom… please don’t hurt me.”

His lips pulled back from his shining teeth in a taunting canine grin. And before I could take another breath, he thrust, his victorious bay as he slid deep drowning out my scream of shocked and shame-filled delight.

The beast above me looked nothing like the man I knew and loved, but the throbbing length driving towards the barrier inside me felt wonderfully, almost frighteningly familiar. He sank himself in to the hilt, pushing his pelvis against my ass in sharp, rhythmic pulsations underscored by his heavy, guttural grunts. Then, just as quickly as he’d invaded, he retreated, and a new pleasure/pain dragged against my g-spot – the primitive scratch of tiny barbs rising from his head. I yelped at the sensation, and he growled into my ear as my quivering walls spasmed reflexively around him. He thrust against the pressure again and again and again, each backstroke raking mercilessly over each nerve and sending a red and hazy flood of endorphins surging through my blood. All thoughts of _fight_ , of _struggle_ , of _escape_ flowed out of me like the tears leaking from my eyes, like the arousal now dripping between my legs and I let myself slump beneath him as his tongue swept the salt from my skin.

“Ohhhh… Tom…”

He breathed a blunt, urgent whine in reply to that first wanton, welcoming, moan, his head shaking as if to help him focus. My nails were torn and my palm was shredded, but the silky softness of his coat soothed the sting as I curled my grip around his wrist. My other arm reached back behind me, my fingers finding purchase in the thick pelt behind his ear, and his growl of savage satisfaction reverberated through me as I fisted his fur and gave a small tug.

“More, Sir,” I whispered into the wind. “Please…”

His jaw opened and he exhaled a savage snarl, winding his other limb around me and flipping me roughly to my back, his dark eyes an inferno as he pulled me hard into his next brutal thrust. I gasped in pained delight, let my head fall back, offering him the unguarded fragile landscape of my throat. He pressed his mouth against me, worrying flesh without actually tearing it, filling the air with the frantic sounds of his warm, wet tongue and his clicking teeth. He lapped at the perspiration pooled in the hollows of my neck and shoulders, snuffled his way down the valley between my breasts, nipped roughly at their swollen peaks. He tolerated the stroking of my hands until it became too much a distraction; I jerked them to safety beneath my chin when he snapped violently at my fingers, saliva flying from his chops.

The prickle of the dry grass beneath me was scratching at the wounds our grappling had left behind, silvery whispers of agony that kept me from slipping away on a tide of unbelieving ecstasy. The electricity pulsating through him was palpable, static crackling through his coat as I slid my arms around his broad, solid shoulders. I clung to him, a willing hostage as he pushed and plunged and plundered, bending me to his pleasure without any trace of timidity or tenderness. His teeth gnashed in the moonlight, his claws left divots in the curves of my hips and thighs as he chased impulse after base, feral impulse, and I basked in the heat of his assault in softly whimpering surrender, aroused and fulfilled by the urges I could feel and almost hear pulsing through his veins…

 _Want…need…_ _tight_ _wet warm… good, so good…_ _deeper…_ _faster…_

_Mine… mine… claim… take… take… take… come… come… COME…_

That last exploded through his brain and into mine, a harsh, woofing command. I curled my hands to tiny vises in his pelt, screaming affirmation to the sky, my broken voice wrapped in the violent, victorious howl he bayed to the moon drifting indifferently above, his considerable weight collapsing against me when his celestial mistress ducked her pretty pale head behind a thick, ebony cloud. His breath was a hot, moist whine in my ear and I pressed tighter against him, desperate for his heat. He lay limp in my arms a quiet moment, his stare hazy with sated desire as I rubbed gently behind his ears. His nose gave a twitch, took a long, deep, sniff, and then he was stumbling off of me, nudging me onto my side. His tongue scraped gently over the slash in my shoulder, the nicks and scratches on my back. Over and over, the long, laving licks soon felt like soft, sweet kisses as his rhythmic panting slowly seemed to take the shape of my name.

“ _Michelle… Michelle… my lovely Michelle…”_

“Michelle… Michelle? Little one? Wake up for me now…”

I sat up with a gasp, one hand to my throat, my eyes darting wildly around the golden dim of our bedroom. “Tom?”

“Yeah, love, it’s me,” he exhaled a chagrined chuckle, sitting up beside me and pressing his lips to my bare shoulder. “I told you I’d be home late… I didn’t mean to frighten you…”

I turned my head to look at him, still feeling the bite of a cold autumn breeze, my nose still full of the scent of pine needles and blood and warm, musky fur.

No beast in bed beside me, just a man. Tousled curly hair, glasses smudged from a day of driving, white v-neck t-shirt offering the cutest peek of one small tuft of chest hair. His beloved blue jacket lay draped over his suitcase in the doorway; he hadn’t even bothered to unbuckle his belt or kick off his shoes. I threw myself into his confused embrace, dancing kisses over his open, laughing mouth as my weight pushed us both into the nest of pillows behind him.

“And here I thought you’d hand me my head for making you greet the trick-or-treaters alone,” he hummed, running his palms over the dip of my spine, stroking and squeezing the curves of my ass.

“I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care,” I mumbled churlishly, burrowing into his chest, slipping my hands under the hem of his shirt to feel his skin against mine. “I’m just _so_ glad you’re home. Although, I do have to tell you, you did miss the cutest little family… the most adorable Tink and Peter Pan you’re ever gonna see… they even had this fat little Tick Tock Croc…”

His shifting elbow landed on the television remote and the screen snapped alight, displaying the on-demand video menu for his amused scrutiny. “ _The Shining… The Ring… The Howling…_ oh, really, Michelle, are you serious?” He pulled me squealing underneath him, pinning my wrists above my head. “Here I am, beyond excited to find you in bed, deliciously naked, writhing and wriggling and moaning my name, and it turns out, you’re just having a ridiculous Halloween nightmare!”

“Well,” I ducked my chin, a bit embarrassed, “ridiculous it was, I’ll admit that. I don’t… exactly… think I’d call it a nightmare, though.”

“Oh really?” He cocked a curious eyebrow. “Are you going to tell me or not?”

I cut my eyes to his hold on my arms, batting my lashes until he let me go. “I’m thinking, Sir,” I purred, turning onto my side and scooting to spoon suggestively against him, “it might be more fun to show you.”

“Oh really?” He growled, happily playing along, peeling off his glasses and dropping them to his nightstand with a clatter. “My naughty little Halloween whore,” he teased as I rubbed against the interest quickly rising behind his fly. “Trying to bring out the animal in me?”

“Ohhh, Sir,” I sighed, stretching up for his kiss, “if you only knew…”

 


End file.
